


After The Heart Goes

by Polomonkey



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Adoption, Child Abuse, Foster Care, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 40,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2000385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polomonkey/pseuds/Polomonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin grows up in care, and it breaks him. Then he meets Arthur, who wants to put him back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How To Kill A Living Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a gift for the brilliant lovePEOPLEandCOWBOY over on FF who has kindly translated several of my fics into French. The request was for a story about Merlin being orphaned and having a bad experience in the care system, leading to a fear of abandonment. But then he meets Arthur and their meeting changes everything.
> 
> Please do heed the warnings for this and beware of triggers. It is a sad fic, but the care system in England is in a very sorry state at the moment (and more news comes out every day about historical abuse scandals) and I didn't want to rose-tint it. There are of course many good and kind people working in care, but ultimately the system seems to be broken. However, the second part will be more redemptive, I promise.

_“Make it more like a murder mystery. What murdered the boy I was?”_

**~ Stuart, A Life Backwards**

 

Merlin’s mother dies on a Wednesday. He knows this because Wednesday is finger painting day at school, and the day they come to get him he has paint all over his hands. All the way to the hospital he keeps thinking that he should have washed up before he left; that his mum will scold him when she sees him looking so messy.

As it turns out, he doesn’t get to see his mum anyway. The nice lady who brought him from the school sits him down on a plastic waiting room chair while the man with her talks to the doctor. When he’s finished he comes over and shakes his head at the lady. They have a brief whispered discussion before she walks back over.

“Where’s my mum?” Merlin says.

The lady bends down next to him.

“Merlin, I’m afraid we have some bad news. Your mummy was in an accident when she was driving in her car. She was hurt very badly and the doctors couldn’t make her better. I’m afraid she died.”

Merlin thinks about this for a second. 

“Can I wash my hands?” he says.

The lady nods and takes him to the bathroom. When they come back out, he turns back to her.

“Can I see my mum now?”

“I’m afraid you can’t, sweetheart,” the lady says gently.

“When can I see her?” Merlin says, getting a little frustrated. If they’re not going to take him to see her, then why did they drag him out of school in the first place?

“Merlin, your mum has died. Do you understand what that means?”

Merlin considers.

“Our class goldfish died,” he said at last. “Miss Maine said he’d gone to heaven and we got a new one.”

“Okay, so do you understand what happened to your mum?”

“She got hurt in a car and I can’t see her right now.”

“You won’t be able to see her later either. Because she died, it means that she’s gone and you can’t see her anymore.”

“What, ever again?” Merlin says incredulous, because that’s just silly.

The lady looks very sad and nods.

“But she has to pick me up from school later,” Merlin points out.

The man suddenly reappears.

“Hey buddy,” he says, which irritates Merlin. He’s not this man’s buddy.

“We can’t find a number for your dad. Do you know it?”

“My dad’s not here,” Merlin says, annoyed. “He went away when I was little.”

The man and the lady exchange glances.

“Does anyone else look after you other than your mum? Like a grandma or an uncle or anyone?”

Merlin shrugs. It’s always just been him and his mum.

“I’ll call the school,” the man says and he strides off again. 

“Are you hungry?” the lady asks and Merlin nods because it’s probably lunch time now and he left his food at school. 

The lady gets him a chocolate bar from the vending machine and Merlin doesn’t tell her that his mum doesn’t let him have chocolate in the day time. It’s like a special treat. 

The lady finds him a colouring book and he fills a few pictures in, even though most of the felt tips are running out. 

The man comes back after a while and tells him that his Uncle Gaius is coming to pick him up.

Merlin tries to remember Gaius, and has a vague impression of white hair and eyebrows that looked like black caterpillars inching across his forehead.

“Looks like you’re gonna stay with him for a bit, buddy,” the man says, ruffling his hair.

Merlin scowls up at him. He doesn’t want to stay with Gaius, although he supposes he’ll have to live somewhere until his mum comes back. Couldn’t they just let him stay with her in her hospital room?

He voices this idea and the lady looks sad again. The man opens his mouth but she shushes him.

“Maybe his uncle can explain better,” she says in a low voice.

But he can’t. It takes a good six months before Merlin finally begins to understand that his mum’s not coming back, not ever. And even after that, he still nurses a vague hope that there’s been some mistake somehow, that one day she’ll walk back through the door and he’ll run into her arms like he used to.

He keeps this hope private, and he can’t remember the day when it fizzles out completely. 

 

______________________________________________________________________

 

But living with Gaius isn’t bad. He calls him uncle but Gaius is actually Merlin’s great uncle, and he initially seems impossibly old to Merlin. Yet Gaius manages to constantly surprise him with his energy. He’s retired from being a GP but he stills volunteers at a clinic, as well as writing complicated papers with long names that other people read and praise. When Merlin can’t get to sleep, Gaius always threatens to read his latest paper to him. But he never does, he reads story books or makes up his own tales, usually about wizards and dragons and magic. Merlin loves the way he does the voices; growly for the grumpy old dragon, high pitched for the princess, low and mystical for the wizard. Gaius promises to read him a book called The Hobbit when he gets older, which he says is full of dragons and magic.

He has to move schools, because Gaius lives over an hour away from his old house. He doesn’t mind the new school but he does miss his old house terribly. One weekend he persuades Gaius to drive back to his old street to take a look, but when they draw past the house, he can see evidence of a new family living there – a new car in the drive, a trampoline in the front yard. It makes him cry and Gaius spends all day trying to cheer him up. They don’t go there again.

Gaius makes sure that there are pictures of his mother all around the house, and they talk about her a lot. Gaius relates how he used to babysit her when she was young; about how she once ran away to his house in the middle of the night when she was sixteen because her father wouldn’t let her wear a miniskirt. Merlin doesn’t understand half the stories but he loves them anyway because he likes hearing about his mum. 

Gaius likes to teach Merlin as well. He’s always been good in school but Gaius shows him things they never cover in class. They go on trips to the local forest and Gaius shows him how to find different plants, how to pick up rocks and look at the insects underneath. In the summer, they go to the seaside and explore the rock pools; Gaius explaining to Merlin about crabs and starfish. 

Merlin is curious about his days as a doctor too, so Gaius digs out his old skeleton from the surgery and tells Merlin about the different bones in the human body and what they do. He can never remember any of the complicated Latin names but he loves seeing how they connect to one another.

“Do you think I could be a doctor?” he asks Gaius one day.

“Of course, my boy. I think you’d make a fine doctor. You certainly get on well with old Bones here,” Gaius says, wiggling the skeleton so that Merlin giggles.

From then on, Merlin decides he wants to go into medicine. Gaius buys him an outfit for his birthday, complete with stethoscope and lab coat and Merlin sets up a hospital in his room with all his cuddly toys. Gaius has to put a halt to one or two particularly gruesome ‘surgeries’ on hapless teddy bears, but other than that he’s fully supportive of Merlin’s new obsession. 

He tests his toy stethoscope on Gaius too sometimes, pretending to hear his heartbeat. One day Gaius gets out his real one and Merlin listens, fascinated, at the steady thump of Gaius’ pulse.

“Mine sounds different from yours,” he says when he tries it on his own chest.

“That’s because you’re young and healthy. My old ticker’s getting on a bit,” Gaius says, his eyes twinkling. 

“Maybe you could get a new one?” Merlin suggests. Gaius had explained the concept of heart transplants to him once and it seemed simple enough.

Gaius laughs heartily.

“I’ll bear it in mind, Merlin.”

 

It’s his heart that goes eventually, not that Merlin knows that on the day he rushes into Gaius’ bedroom and finds him stiff and unmoving in the bed.

“You didn’t wake me up and it’s past nine,” Merlin frets as he tugs at the bedclothes. He hates being late for school, he’s always worried he’s going to miss something important.

Gaius doesn’t respond.

“Gaius? Come on, wake up, I have to get to school!”

Merlin goes round the other side of the bed to shake Gaius’ shoulders.

“Get up, we’re late,” he says, panting with the exertion of trying to rouse his great uncle. But Gaius doesn’t move.

It takes five more minutes of pulling and shouting before Merlin realises there’s something wrong. He remembers how Gaius taught him to take a pulse and he clambers onto the bed, feeling the spot in the neck where it comes through strongest.

Nothing.

And it’s the paleness and the coldness and the rigidity of the body in front of him that brings home to him what’s happened.

He doesn’t cry, not yet. Instead he climbs in the bed beside Gaius and burrows into him, trying to put some of his warmth back into the cool body.

He lies there all day, ignoring the phone when it rings mid-afternoon. He has an idea he should call somebody, but he doesn’t know who. He decides to wait instead, because the minute someone else comes, they’ll take him away from Gaius and then it’ll be just like his mum all over again. If he lets Gaius out of his sight, it’ll be the last time he ever sees him.

He stays there for two days, only leaving the bed to forage some bread from the kitchen and use the bathroom. The knock comes on the second evening. They keep knocking for a while, then there are several minutes of silence before the sound of a key in the lock. 

He hears his and Gaius’ names being called as someone enters the house, but it isn’t until the bedroom door opens that he recognises the voice. It’s Miss Lindley, his class teacher, followed by his elderly neighbour Mrs Atkins. Mrs Atkins gasps when she takes in the scene but Miss Lindley keeps a calm expression on her face as she walks over to the bed and lifts Merlin out. She carries him downstairs and then there are lots of phone calls and conversations and cars with flashing lights showing up. Miss Lindley rocks him gently on her lap the whole time, and while part of him wants to protest – he’s ten after all, not a baby – another part of him wants to cling tight and never let her go.

He has to though, later, when a man comes and helps him pack a bag before driving him away to his new home.

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

The children’s home is called Sycamore House, though the sign outside has been defaced so it reads Sick More instead. Merlin doesn’t remember much of the first night there, only that Tristan, the man who drove him, makes him a cup of hot cocoa before showing him to a little bedroom. He later learns that all the new arrivals get the little bedroom; he only spends one night in there before being moved into a room with a boy named Gilli who has a crooked smile and talks in his sleep.

He meets Gwen, his case worker, the morning after he arrives. She’s a pretty, smiley woman in a yellow spotted dress who has to clear a lot of papers off a chair before Merlin can sit down in the office. He assumes she works there but later finds out this is Geoffrey’s office, the man who runs Sycamore House, and Gwen doesn’t live in the house with them like Tristan and Elena and Vivian do. 

She tries to talk to him about Gaius but he doesn’t want to. It’s not like with his mum this time, he knows Gaius isn’t coming back, but it hurts more than he can bring himself to feel so he stays silent and unresponsive. 

She lets him go eventually and he runs into Elena, who insists on giving him what she calls the ‘grand tour’. She introduces him to the other kids on the way, although he doesn’t get all their names straight for at least a week. In the living room they find Sophia, a sulky looking girl of fourteen, watching TV next to a pale, dark haired eleven year old called Freya. Sophia barely looks over but Freya gives him a shy smile and a wave. In the kitchen are a clutch of little ones; Gavin and Kara and Rose and Tom, varying in age from three to seven, currently baking fairy cakes with Tristan. Elena leads him into the back yard, a worn patch of grass with a treehouse in the middle and a yellow swing set. A fierce looking girl with blue streaks in her hair is sitting on a swing, listening to music on her headphones. She nods briefly at Merlin, and Elena informs him her name is Nimueh and she’s just turned fifteen. 

“Her bark is worse than her bite,” Elena stage whispers and Merlin blushes as Nimueh glares over at them. Elena takes him back inside and helps him move his stuff into his new bedroom. The boy lying on the bottom bunk introduces himself as Gilli, and Elena leaves them to “get to know each other”.

“How old are you?” Gilli says when they’re alone.

“Ten,” Merlin says, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. The numbness he felt earlier is beginning to wear off and he’s suddenly terrified at the idea that he’s going to be living here with all these people he doesn’t know.

“I’m fourteen. Did you meet the others?”

Merlin nods.

“They’re mostly okay. Sophia’s a bit of a bitch, and Nimueh’s scary if you get in her way but they won’t bother you. Alvarr and Val are worse though, you wanna steer clear.”

“I didn’t meet them,” Merlin says, pulse already quickening to think he might have enemies already in this place.

“I’m older than them so they don’t mess me around too much but they like picking on new kids.”

Merlin swallows a lump in his throat and Gilli must notice because his face softens slightly.

“Don’t worry kid; I’ll watch your back.”

Merlin tries to smile his thanks but all he wants to do is cry. He climbs up onto the top bunk and lies down for lack of anything better to do. He curls on his side and traces the name carved into the side of the bunk.

“Who’s Ethan?”

There’s a slight pause.

“He used to have your bed.”

“Where did he go?”

There’s another silence.

“Tell you later,” Gilli says eventually. But later never comes, and it ends up being Val who gloatingly tells him a month in that he’s sleeping in a dead boy’s bed.

 

_______________________________________________________________________

 

He’s been at Sycamore House for over a year when he first meets Leon and Mithian. 

Every so often the house has open events that people who might be interested in fostering or adoption can come to. Val and Alvarr call them cattle markets, and sneeringly decline to attend, but Merlin quite likes them. Tristan makes lots of special cakes and sandwiches and they put up a marquee in the garden for games and activities. Gilli’s already told him that most people are looking for little kids and not to expect to meet anyone, yet he can’t help but be hopeful. He always dresses in his best clothes and tries to stick his unruly hair down with water in the hope of attracting someone’s attention. He’s learned to get along at the home over the last year, but he doesn’t want to stay there. He wants to be part of someone’s family again.

As usual, most of the visitor attention is focussed on the youngest kids, but Merlin hangs around the edges and tries to look friendly and well behaved. He’s fiddling with the mini foosball table when someone sits down next to him.

“Hello. Fancy a game?”

The speaker is a tall man with curly hair and a fuzzy beard. He has a nice crinkly smile and Merlin smiles back automatically.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be reds then,” the man says, fishing the ball out from under the table. “I’m Leon by the way, what’s your name?”

“Merlin.”

“What a great name! I’ve never met a Merlin before.”

They play for a minute or so, concentrating on the game, and Leon cheers when Merlin scores.

“Are you supposed to celebrate my goals?” Merlin can’t help asking and Leon winks at him.

“I just appreciate great sportsmanship.”

“He’s lying,” says a female voice from behind them. “You should hear him when I beat him at Jenga.”

A petite woman in a white summer dress sits down beside them and Leon smiles widely.

“Merlin, this is Mithian, my lovely wife. Who never beats me at Jenga, by the way.”

“Hello Merlin,” Mithian says. “What a nice name.”

“That’s what I said,” Leon grins.

Merlin blushes slightly, not used to so much adult attention.

“How old are you then, Merlin?” Mithian asks sweetly.

“Eleven,” Merlin says. “How old are you?”

Mithian and Leon both laugh like he’s said something very funny.

“I’m thirty three,” she says, “and this big lunk is thirty seven.”

“Big lunk, yourself,” Leon says. “You’ve interrupted our game.”

“Oh I’m sorry, do continue,” Mithian says, and she sits and watches them, congratulating Merlin every time he gets a goal, much to Leon’s mock fury.

Merlin ends up spending the rest of the afternoon for them and when it’s time to leave Leon walks over to talk to Gwen while Mithian stays with Merlin. When he comes back, he says:

“It was great to meet you, Merlin. We’d both really like to see you again, if you wanted to?” 

Merlin nods quickly.

“Yeah, that’d be… yeah.”

They both smile wide at him and promise to arrange a visit soon. When they leave, Gwen comes over to ask him how he liked them.

“They’re nice,” he says.

“And you want to see them again?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Gwen says and squeezes him on the shoulder before handing him the last fairy cake.

 

He sees Leon and Mithian a lot after that. They go for days out at the weekend, walking through parks or going to the zoo or visiting local funfairs.

One day Gwen stops by for a chat.

“Have you been having a good time with them, then?”

“Yeah, really good.”

It’s the most fun he’s had since Gaius has died. Leon and Mithian are so easy to be around, and they really seem to like him. He spends his whole week looking forward to their visits.

“That’s great, Merlin. Because I’ve been talking with them, and they’d like to see about adopting you, if you wanted them to.”

Merlin can’t speak at first. It seems so unreal, the Holy Grail of what all the kids at Sycamore want, and he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it.

“Merlin?”

“Yes,” he whispers, overcome. “I really want that.”

Gwen beams at him, pulling him in for a hug.

“Fantastic! Now you know it’s not an instant process, these things take time and we’d want you to do a couple of weekend visits first. And they’ll need to be assessed…”

Merlin’s not listening anymore. He’s thinking of his new life, living with Leon and Mithian, having a house of his own, parents of his own…

It’s only one month later that it all falls apart.

He’s about to go on his first weekend stay with them and he’s been packing and repacking his bag all day. But when their car pulls up and he runs outside, he sees that Gwen is with them, which makes no sense.

“Let’s all go into the office,” Gwen says when she sees him, and her voice is unusually quiet.

He figures it must be more boring paperwork or something like that, but when they’re all sat down, he notices Mithian and Leon look strangely sombre.

Mithian is the first to break the silence.

“Merlin, we’ve… we’ve had some news.”

She takes a deep breath and Leon reaches out to take her hand.

“I don’t think we mentioned this, but we tried to have a baby for several years. I had a lot of different treatments, but in the end the doctors said it wasn’t going to happen.”

She pauses and seems lost for words. Leon takes over.

“But we went to the doctor yesterday because Mith had been feeling ill, and it turns out she’s three months pregnant. It’s actually twins, which apparently is common after some of the treatments…”

He trails off. 

Merlin doesn’t understand why they’re talking so seriously. Isn’t this a cause for celebration?

“That’s really great,” he says and for a moment an image of him as an older brother flashes into his head, holding a baby in each arm. He’s always wanted siblings.

“I love babies!” he says enthusiastically, because it seems like they’re worried he’s going to be upset about the news and nothing could be further from the truth.

But they still look sad.

“Merlin, we really wanted to adopt you because we wanted to have a family of our own and we like you so much,” Mithian says softly. “But now that I’m having two babies, we think it might be too much to look after both them and you at the same time.”

Merlin doesn’t quite get it.

“So… I mean, you’re not going to give the babies up?”

“No,” Leon says slowly. “It means… it means…”

He can’t seem to continue and Gwen steps in.

“Merlin, I’m so sorry, but Leon and Mithian won’t be able to adopt you anymore.”

Merlin blinks.

“What? Because… because it might be too much? But I just said I love babies. I take care of the little ones here all the time; I can help with yours too. Gwen, don’t I look after Kara and Gavin all the time?”

“You do, Merlin, but…”

“And you wouldn’t need to take time away from them to look after me, I can look after myself. I don’t even need my own bedroom, I can sleep on the floor of the babies’ room, and that way if they wake up in the night, I can help them. You won’t even need to get up.”

“Merlin…”

“You won’t even need to buy me any stuff, or take me out or anything. You won’t even notice I’m there, I promise!”

“Merlin-"

“Please adopt me. Please.”

Merlin doesn’t care that he’s begging now, he can see it all slipping away from him, and for such a stupid reason. He’s great with kids; he’d be no extra hassle. He just has to make them see sense. 

Mithian’s crying now and Leon has his arm around her, looking close to tears himself. Gwen walks over to crouch next to Merlin.

“It just can’t happen,” she whispers in his ear, and there’s a note of finality that Merlin can’t escape from. 

He doesn’t cry. He feels his whole body stiffen up, like he’s turned to stone. Leon and Mithian are apologising but he doesn’t want to listen.

“We still want to see you Merlin,” Mithian’s saying desperately. “We can still go out at the weekends. And when the babies are born, you can be like their older brother, and come round to play with them.”

“Can I go now?” Merlin hears himself saying to Gwen, and his voice sounds very distant.

“Merlin, just listen to-”

Merlin grabs his bag and walks out of the office, ignoring the voices calling after him. He goes into his room and slowly unpacks his things. He intends to climb onto his bunk and lie down but he can’t quite find the energy, so he just lies down on the floor. Gilli finds him that way later and picks him up, propping him on the bottom bunk. He tries to cheer him up by showing him a dirty magazine he bought, but Merlin isn’t interested. Eventually Gilli tucks him into his own bed and leaves him to sleep till dinner time.

Word has spread by then and he can’t stand the sympathetic looks that Freya and Tristan are giving him. Then Val makes a sniggering comment at the table about Merlin getting left on the scrap heap and Gilli knocks his head into his plate so hard that Val’s nose starts bleeding. Gilli gets put in the time out room and Merlin uses the commotion to slip away. He should be grateful that Gilli stuck up for him, but all it confirms is that he’s one of them now, a Sycamore kid through and through.

Leon and Mithian call for him for several weekends but he refuses to come out and see them, and after a few months they stop trying.

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

When Merlin is thirteen, he’s fostered for the first time.

After Leon and Mithian he tells Gwen he doesn’t want to be up for adoption anymore. He needn’t have bothered, as Nimueh matter-of-factly informs him later. After the age of twelve, no-one much stands a chance of getting adopted. Parents want little kids, young enough to imprint their parenting on, Nimueh says. The older you get, the less desirable you are. She tells Merlin he only stood a chance while he appeared younger than his age, while he was still small enough to look like he needed taking care of.

Looking in the mirror, Merlin still feels small, but apparently he’s outgrown his chance at real parents now. He tells himself he doesn’t care. Why does he need parents anyway?

But he isn’t thick skinned enough not to feel a small spasm of excitement when Gwen tells him a couple wants to meet him with a view to fostering.

“How do I know they won’t change their mind at the last minute?” Merlin says coolly, to hide his nascent eagerness.

“They’re fostering two other boys already,” Gwen reassures him. “They know what the process is; they’re not likely to get cold feet.”

“I might not like them,” Merlin says damply.

“No,” Gwen agrees. “But you might. Do you want to meet them and find out?”

Merlin half shrugs. Gwen takes that as the acquiescence it is and arranges a meeting.

In the end he’s not sure if he likes them or not. The lady, Mary, is thin and very quiet. When she does speak, her voice is slightly reedy and nervous. Her husband Cenred on the other hand is talkative enough for the both of them. He claps Merlin on the back the second he meets him and starts talking about football and how they can go to a game together or have a kick about in the back yard.

Merlin doesn’t like football but he nods along anyway. Cenred and Mary are no Leon and Mithian, but look how that worked out anyway. If these two want to take him, he’s happy to go. He’s sick of Sycamore House; sick of never having anything of his own, sick of riding the stupid minibus to school, sick of being woken in the night by people crying, sick of the way they can’t go one day without someone kicking off and having to be put in time out. Cenred’s already talking about how he can decorate his room, how they can all go camping in the summer, how they can buy a ping pong table for the basement. 

His grin is slightly too wide, his voice slightly too hearty, like he’s putting on a show for Elena and the others but Merlin decides it doesn’t matter. He’s not looking for a dad; he’s just looking for a new place to crash. And Cenred seems easy going enough; surely they’ll get along fine. 

Cenred and Mary pay a few more visits, and they pass pleasantly enough. Merlin tries to tamp it down, but he can’t help the anticipation building inside of him. When Gwen finally asks if he’s ready to go, he’s quick to say yes. They may not be the parents of his dreams, but he’ll be living in a proper home and he’ll have someone looking out for him. That’s enough, as far as he’s concerned.

Cenred’s already told him about the two other boys they foster. Evan, who’s fifteen, and Daniel, who’s nine. Gwen says that Daniel has learning difficulties and goes to the Oak Ridge special school across town, but Evan goes to the same school as Merlin. Merlin tries to remember if he’s ever heard of Evan, but he draws a blank. It’s not like he socialises much in school anyway.

The day he moves, everyone gathers round to say goodbye, except for Val and Alvarr who sneer as they push past them all, loudly talking about how Merlin will be back within a month. 

“Don’t listen to them,” Freya says, her eyes bright with tears. “But you’ll come back and visit, won’t you?”

Merlin promises, hugging her close. He pats the little ones on the head, exchanges one armed hugs with Gilli and Sophia, and waves to Nimueh in the corner, who has deigned to stick around to see him off.

He feels sick with nerves in the car because it all seems so final suddenly. Gwen seems to understand he’s not in the mood to talk because she turns the radio up. After a while she starts singing along and Merlin can’t help but giggle at her inability to carry a tune.

“Are you laughing at me, you cheeky so and so?” Gwen says, smiling, and she starts singing even louder, throwing all semblance of rhythm to the wind until he begs her to stop, stomach hurting from laughing.

She turns off the radio.

“It’ll be okay, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, looking out of the window.

“And if it’s not, you can come straight back.” 

Merlin nods. He can, but he hopes it won’t come to that.

Cenred greets him with a vigorous handshake at the door and Mary gives him a careful hug. It’s the first time she’s hugged him, and he can feel how thin her limbs are, he’s afraid of squeezing too tight. 

Cenred helps him take his things upstairs; he’s been for one weekend visit before so he’s already seen the room he’ll be sharing with Daniel. The boy was on a school trip that weekend so Merlin hasn’t met him yet, but a tousled blonde head appears at the top of the stairs as they make their way up.

“Danny, come and say hi to Merlin,” Cenred says and the face vanishes.

“He won’t be shy for long,” Cenred says jovially, and when they’ve finished dumping Merlin’s possessions in the room, the little figure appears again. He’s small for his age, even smaller than Merlin was then, and one of his eyelids is slightly droopy.

“My name’s Daniel and I’m nine years old,” he says shyly, holding up eight fingers. Merlin smiles.

“My name’s Merlin and I’m thirteen, but I don’t have that many fingers. Maybe I could use my toes?”

Daniel squirms with laughter, like Merlin’s said something hilarious. 

“That’s my bed but you can have the other one,” he says, pointing across the room. “And you can play with my train set and my Lego but not Mr Cuddles because he’s missing an ear and an eye so only I can touch him.”

He points at the teddy bear on the bed and then frowns, like Merlin might be sad about that.

“But maybe we could hold him together sometimes.” 

“Thank you,” Merlin says solemnly.

Cenred winks at him behind Daniel’s back, but it’s not quite friendly. There’s something almost mocking in it, which makes Merlin uneasy. But he pushes it out of his mind.

 

He doesn’t meet Evan until after Gwen’s had a cup of tea and left, promising to come and see Merlin next week. Evan comes in just as Mary’s setting the table for dinner.

“I hope you like chicken,” she says softly to Merlin in that slightly reedy voice, and he’s assuring her that he does when the door slams and Evan walks in. He’s tall, with messy brown hair and a hard straight line for a mouth.

Mary starts slightly.

“Evan, you’re back. This is Merlin.”

Merlin says hello but Evan only nods at him before sitting down. Daniel smiles up at Evan, who quickly ruffles his hair before picking up his fork.

“Wait for Cenred,” Mary says, but it doesn’t sound like a reprimand. Merlin’s surprised that Evan listens, but he throws down his fork, huffing impatiently.

Cenred comes in from the kitchen with a beer in hand.

“Nice of you to join us Evan,” he says and Evan sneers at him. 

He doesn’t say a word the rest of the meal. Cenred doesn’t seem to notice, effortlessly dominating the conversation, occasionally firing the odd question at Merlin. He can only choke out vague answers, too overwhelmed by all the new experiences, but Cenred seems satisfied.

After dinner, they sit on the sofa and watch television. Evan disappears to his room without saying a word. When it gets to nine, Daniel begins yawning and Cenred says it’s time for him to go to bed. Merlin volunteers to take him, he’s shattered himself.

“Already making yourself useful, eh?” Cenred says with that same odd wink. 

Merlin wishes them both an awkward goodnight and starts up the stairs. On the way, Daniel takes Merlin’s hand in his own sticky one. It feels surprisingly natural to lead him up the stairs and help him brush his teeth and change for bed. He’s done it before for the little ones at Sycamore, and Daniel’s much less trouble than any of them. Gavin used to jump out of the bath and run naked around the house till someone caught him, and Kara fought hell for leather whenever anyone tried to brush her hair or her teeth. But Daniel placidly allows his face to be washed, and obediently sticks his hands in the air for Merlin to put on his pyjama top. 

When Merlin tucks him in, Daniel presents his cheek to be kissed and Merlin does. For a moment it feels like this really is his house and Daniel really is his little brother. 

 

______________________________________________________________________

 

Merlin doesn’t speak to Evan properly until a week later. He’s just put Daniel to bed – which seems to be his unofficial duty now, not that he minds – when Evan walks in and shuts the door behind him, sitting down on Merlin’s bed.

“What’s wrong with you, then?” he says with no preamble.

“Sorry, what?” Merlin says, aiming for polite.

He’d have to be blind not to notice Evan’s massive attitude problem but it doesn’t faze him. Most of the older kids at Sycamore House had an axe to grind, one way or the other, and he’s used to people being rude or sullen. But he’d also rather stay on Evan’s good side when it’s just the three of them here.

“What’s your damage? Why did Cenred pick you?” Evan says brusquely.

“What?” Merlin says again.

“Well I’ve got “behavioural problems”,” Evan says, with exaggerated air quotes. “And the kid’s retarded, so what’s your issue?”

Anger flashes through Merlin.

“Don’t call him retarded,” he hisses, glad that Daniel is already asleep and not listening. It hasn’t been long but he already feels attached to Daniel in a way he never let himself feel with any of the kids at the home, and he won’t let him be insulted.

For a second Evan looks abashed, almost as though he knows he went too far, but then his face becomes a mask again.

“Fine, whatever. I’m just saying, there must be something wrong with you.”

“Why?” 

“‘Cause Cenred gets more money for the ones with ‘extra needs’.”

“More money from who?”

“The care system, idiot. You think Cenred took you in out the goodness of his heart? He does it for the money.”

“Bullshit,” Merlin says.

Evan shrugs.

“Don’t believe me then. I’ve been here a year, I’ve seen three kids come and go already. He takes ‘em in, gets his pay-out, then moves ‘em on.”

“So why wouldn’t he move you and Daniel on then?”

“I told you.” Evan rubs his fingers together. “We’re bigger earners, us broken ones. It suits him to hang on to us.”

Merlin doesn’t know whether to believe him or not. On the one hand, he doesn’t trust Evan at all. He seems like just the kind of guy who would make up stories, who would try to unsettle the new boy. Besides, if foster kids earned people that much money, surely half the country which be fostering, which Merlin knows they’re definitely not. Evan’s probably either paranoid or lying.

On the other hand, he can’t shake the slight feeling of unease that sometimes rises in him when he sees Cenred. There’s something wrong with a man whose smile never reaches his eyes…

“I don’t believe you,” he says at last.

“Your lookout, kid,” Evan says, standing up. “Don’t say I never warned you.”

He pauses at the door.

“I think I get why he picked you, anyway.”

Merlin knows he shouldn’t respond but he can’t help himself.

“Why?”

“You don’t look like you can put up much of a fight.”

A slight chill spreads through Merlin’s body as the door clicks shut.

What the hell did that mean?

But Evan was probably just trying to scare him. He was a troublemaker. There was no point even thinking about it.

 

Despite his vow to forget Evan’s words, they haunt Merlin for the next few weeks.

The thing is, something does seem to be off in the house. 

Merlin initially assumed Mary might talk a little more in her own home, but she remains almost completely silent. All she ever seems to do is housework: cooking dinner, hanging up washing, sweeping the floor. Merlin tries sitting with her in the kitchen sometimes, to be companionable, but she can’t seem to relax around him. And he can’t stand her tuneless humming, something he’s sure she doesn’t even know she does. At first he thinks it’s just him that makes her nervous, but he soon comes to recognise she’s that way with everyone. After a while, he just leaves her to it.

Cenred doesn’t ignore him exactly, but he’s not around much either. He’ll talk over dinner but it’s more at him than with him. In the evenings he usually parks in front of the telly or goes to the pub. He does much the same at the weekends. The promised football matches or kick-abouts in the yard never materialise, and while Merlin’s no football fan, he can’t help but feel slightly disappointed. Why had Cenred fostered him if he didn’t seem to want to spend any time with him?

Evan’s theory about the money is starting to look a little more likely.

Well. So what? He only wanted to get out of Sycamore House anyway. At least here there’s less chaos, at least here there are things that belong to him. What does it matter if Cenred cares more about the money than him? Merlin tells himself he didn’t come here looking for parents anyway. That’s kid’s stuff and he’s too old for it now. He doesn’t need a mum or dad.

He can’t admit to himself that he’s lonely. That sometimes he even longs for the noise and clutter of Sycamore House; that sometimes he misses all the things he looked forward to getting away from.

There’s one thing that’s the same here. At night, he sometimes hears someone crying.

___________________________________________________________________________

 

It’s precisely three months, two weeks, and five days since he moved in that Cenred hits him for the first time.

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming. The way Mary skulks around in the shadows, too nervous to speak; the way Evan gives Cenred a wide berth wherever possible, unexplainable bruises coming and going on his face. 

Merlin’s first thought oddly, as he crashes to the ground, is that he’s glad Daniel’s not in the room. His second is of pain.

The glass of milk he dropped lies shattered in pieces around him, liquid seeping into his trouser legs. What a thing for Cenred to finally lose his cool over.

No use crying over spilt milk, Merlin thinks stupidly, barely suppressing the laugh that bubbles to the surface. He really wants to laugh all of a sudden, because of course this is the way it is, of course. What made him think this could work out for him? That the family thing was third time lucky? 

“Godamnit Merlin, don’t be so clumsy. Clean that up now.”

Cenred’s voice is harsh above him but he’s hardly listening. He cleans the spill mechanically before heading upstairs.

He goes to the bathroom and dabs at the blood that’s trickling down from his split lip. It’s already swelling up, but he can easily say that he fell if anyone asks.

When he leaves the bathroom, Evan is in the hallway. Merlin thinks he sees a flash of sympathy in his eyes before he walks away.

 

They don’t talk about it until the third time though. The time when Merlin tracks dirt in the house and Cenred shakes him so hard it feels like his bones are rattling; before pushing him into the bookcase. He goes down hard, scraping his left arm against the bookcase’s sharp edge, and watches in sick fascination as blood wells up on his skin.

There are only plasters in the bathroom and the gash is too big. Merlin is debating using a strip of material from an old t-shirt when Evan appears on the landing and beckons Merlin into his room.

He’s never been inside before, and he weirdly expected something a little more reflective of Evan’s personality – perhaps black painted walls or skull and crossbones posters. But the walls are a dull beige colour; there are no pictures or photos to be seen. Evan’s been here at least a year but his room looks like he’s just passing through. Which Merlin supposes is the point.

Evan doesn’t say anything, just opens a drawer to reveal a roll of bandages nestled amongst a bottle of TCP, a tube of arnica cream and other miscellaneous medical supplies. He motions for Merlin to sit down on the bed, and then begins wrapping his arm. 

“Thanks,” Merlin says awkwardly when he finishes.

“If it happens again while I’m out, you can come in and get what you need,” Evan says dismissively, like he’s offering use of his hair gel or something.

Merlin doesn’t bother to say that he hopes it won’t happen again, because clearly it will, and from the look of Evan’s drawer, Merlin was lucky to go three months untouched.

A part of him is looking for sympathy, to get Evan to commiserate with him, but that’s baby stuff and he knows Evan won’t go for it. Instead, he voices the other thought preying on his mind.

“Does he do it to Daniel?”

“No. And if he ever does, I’ll fucking kill him.”

Evan’s tone is all rage and pain and Merlin’s not cruel enough to point out that there’s little chance of Evan protecting Daniel if he can’t even protect himself.

Perhaps Evan sees a little of that in Merlin’s expression anyway because he adds, defensively.

“He wouldn’t dare anyway. It’s not like you and me, at a school with what – like a thousand students? There’s only six kids in Daniel’s class and they all get a loads of one-on-one time. Someone’d notice.”

“Okay,” Merlin says and the fear that’s been pooling in his stomach ever since that first time lessens somewhat. He’s already been keeping a watchful eye on Daniel for bruises, and once or twice he’s tried to hint around the subject of Cenred’s temper with the younger boy. It’s a relief to know that Daniel really is as innocent as he seems.

There’s silence for a moment, then:

“Why d’you never tell anyone?” Merlin blurts out. 

Evan shrugs.

“Like anyone’d care. Anyway, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m sixteen in seven months, then I’m out of here for good.”

Merlin doesn’t say what he’s thinking, that a lot can happen in seven months, but again Evan seems to read his mind and his shoulders sag slightly.

“I tried to tell my case worker once. But he… well I kind of have this history of lying, so he didn’t believe me, and then he said he was gonna call Cenred and I just told him to forget the whole thing. Said I was making it up.”

Sorry doesn’t seem like an adequate response but Merlin says it anyway and Evan half nods before his face becomes impassive again.

“Anyway, I got stuff to do, so…”

Merlin takes his cue and leaves. He goes back to his room and lies on his bed. His arm is throbbing steadily, not as bad as the time Val pushed him out of the treehouse, but painful all the same. 

Tears threaten at his eyes as he thinks about Cenred grabbing him but he refuses to let them come. Crying won’t help. Cenred already sneered at him for being a baby when he cried the second time he got slapped.

Maybe it’s not such a big deal. Gilli always used to come back from monthly visits with his mum with some new bruise and he never cried about it. The one time Merlin asked him about it, he simply said: “She’s my mum. She just gets like that. It don’t mean she doesn’t love me.”

“Would you wanna live with her? Even when she does that?”

“Course. Families aren’t meant to be perfect; you just do the best you can. I’d rather put up with her getting mad sometimes than wasting away in this shithole.” 

And that’s his choice now too. Back at the home no-one would hit him (Val and Alvarr aside). But he’d be back to having no privacy, back to noisy communal dinners, back to being marked out as a children’s home kid by everyone who saw him.

Wasn’t it better here? If he keeps out of Cenred’s way, he can mostly just do what he wants. The food is better, Mary gives him pocket money each week, and he doesn’t have to wait until his trainers are literally hanging off his feet before he can have a new pair.

Merlin tries to weigh it up. He knows he can go back. Evan might have struck out but he’s pretty sure if he tells Gwen what’s happening she’ll believe him. He could be out of here by tonight.

The ache in his arm makes it very tempting indeed. But then he looks over at Daniel’s bed and sees Mr Cuddles propped up on the pillow.

He can’t leave Daniel. He’s like the little brother he never had, and he’s not going to abandon him. 

Decision made, Merlin curls up in a ball and tries to get some sleep.

____________________________________________________________________

 

Keeping out of Cenred’s way is more easily said than done. It’s a small house and there aren’t many places to avoid him. He can go out but there’s not much to do. He doesn’t have any friends from school, the only people he really knows are the ones at Sycamore and he doesn’t want to go back there. On weekends he sometimes takes Daniel out to the park or the library, and it’s fun, but they have to come home eventually. And Cenred’s always there, invariably in a foul mood.

Merlin’s only been there four and a half months, but he can see that Cenred’s getting worse by the day. He drinks more, shouts more, swears more. Evan gets it in the neck more often than Merlin, mainly because he goes out of his way to provoke the man. Merlin thinks he understands why; as Val always said of his stepfather: if you’re gonna get hit anyway, you might as well make sure there’s a reason why. So Evan talks back and breaks curfew and gets suspended from school and Cenred hits him and locks him in his room and tells him that he’s nothing, he’s just some worthless care kid that nobody wanted and he should be damn grateful anyone took him in.

Merlin watches all this, torn between exasperation and admiration for Evan’s defiance. He doesn’t have it in him; he can’t help but shrink when Cenred’s glare is turned on him and he’d rather whimper out an apology for doing nothing wrong than risk being smacked for refusing. Sometimes he hates himself for being such a coward, but he can’t seem to help it.

For all his efforts, he gets hit anyway. Nowhere near as much as Evan, but enough that he starts flinching at sudden movements, and trembling slightly whenever Cenred walks past him.

He and Evan still don’t talk much, but he lets Merlin dab antiseptic on his back on the horrible night that Cenred takes a belt to him. And if he’s around when Cenred starts on Merlin, Evan usually finds some way to divert the attention onto himself and save Merlin a beating. Cenred gets wise to this eventually but Merlin’s grateful all the same.

No-one notices at school, not even on the rare occasions Cenred forgets himself and hits Merlin on the face. His form teacher clucks his tongue disapprovingly one time and advises Merlin not to get into so many fights, which is how Merlin learns that his classmates and teachers just assume he spends all his time out of school scrapping. 

It doesn’t matter. Daniel’s safe and that’s all that counts. The best part of Merlin’s day is coming home to help Daniel with his homework or to read him a book or play with his train set. Sometimes Merlin tells him made up stories at bedtime, the kind that Gaius used to tell, about dragons and warlocks. Daniel oohs and aahs at all the right moments, and cheers whenever the handsome prince shows up. 

“Is magic real, Merlin?”

“You bet. My mum named me after a magical wizard, you know.”

“So you can you do magic?”

“Course I can,” Merlin says, waggling his eyebrows dramatically. “Here, I’m putting a spell on you.”

He waves his hands theatrically around the bed and Daniel squeals with laughter.

“There! It’s a protection spell, so none of the dragons or monsters can get you.”

“Do one on yourself.”

“I already have! No-one can hurt me.”

Daniel’s little face suddenly looks very serious.

“What about Cenred?”

Merlin blanches, then tries to recover.

“What about him?”

“He shouts a lot.”

Daniel’s voice is very quiet.

“Does he shout at you?” Merlin says softly.

“No, not really. But he does at you. And I saw… I saw him push Evan over. And Miss Farley says we’re not allowed to push because it’s not nice but Cenred did it.”

Merlin doesn’t know what to say. He feels like an idiot for assuming that Daniel wouldn’t pick up on what’s been going on in the house.

“Miss Farley’s right,” he says slowly. “It’s not nice and Cenred shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t shout either.”

“So why does he?”

“Sometimes… sometimes adults don’t behave very well. Just like Andrew in your class, when he throws the books around.”

“Miss Farley says Andrew gets angry and it makes him feel bad so he does something bad.”

“Right. Well, that’s a bit like Cenred. He gets angry sometimes and he doesn’t know what to do about it, so he shouts.”

“Is he angry at me?”

“No, of course not. And he’s not really angry at me and Evan either, I promise.”

Merlin lifts Daniel’s chin up so he can be sure he’s meeting his eyes.

“But if he ever does get angry and shout at you or… or push you… you come and tell me or Evan straightaway, okay? Promise me?”

Daniel nods.

“Okay. Time for bed, then. Let’s get Mr Cuddles nice and warm under the covers with you.”

Merlin tucks him in and kisses his forehead. He’s lucky in that Daniel can fall asleep with the lamp on, meaning Merlin can stay up and read for a few hours. But tonight he doesn’t want to read. He sits on his bed, thinking. How long before Cenred turns his anger on Daniel?

___________________________________________________________

 

Not long, as it transpires. It’s Merlin’s sixth month of living there and he reckons Gwen’s put a big fat tick next to his name in her records. To all outward appearances, it seems like a successful fostering. Whenever Gwen drops by, Cenred’s as polite as can be, ruffling Merlin’s hair like they’re inseparable pals. Merlin plays along because he’s made his choice and he has to stick to it. Even when Gwen takes him out a café and tells him he can speak freely, he lies and says it’s all good, even though he feels like he’s nearing his breaking point. Last week, Cenred locked him in the garden shed all night for “insolence”. When Evan tried to jimmy the lock and break him out, Cenred kicked him till he couldn’t stand and then threw him in the shed with Merlin. Neither of them got much sleep that night and Evan could barely walk the next day. Since then, Evan’s been much less defiant towards Cenred. Merlin thinks he’s reaching his breaking point too, but neither of them knows what to do about it.

He feels angry all the time. At Cenred for being a bastard and Mary for being too afraid to protect them and Evan’s shitty social worker for not nipping this in the bud when it all started. 

But he’s holding on, just about, until the summer holidays roll around. Merlin’s dreading the fact that he can’t escape to school anymore, and he’s even more worried about the fact that Daniel will be home all the time, easy prey for Cenred’s wrath. He tries to spend as much time as possible in his room with Daniel; Cenred rarely bothers to seek him out there. 

But he can’t hide forever and things come to a head one night at dinner. It’s been a hot, humid day and Cenred’s irritable from the moment he walks in the door. He sits chugging his beer and ranting about his piece of shit boss and his lousy co-workers and how he should pack it all in because no-one appreciates him.

Merlin wishes he wouldn’t swear so much in front of Daniel but he knows better than to say anything. When Mary serves up the stew, there are a few minutes of blessed silence before Cenred starts in again.

“Jesus, this is bland. You couldn’t have put some flavour in it?”

Mary mumbles something about following the recipe.

“Well you should throw that recipe out; I’ve had cough syrup that tastes better than this crap.”

“I like it,” Daniel pipes up unexpectedly. 

“Yeah, no shit, kid. You’d probably eat dog dirt if I told you it was chocolate pudding.”

Merlin tenses. Cenred doesn’t normally deign to address Daniel, preferring to roll his eyes or shake his head to indicate his lack of interest when the boy speaks. It drives Merlin mad to see Cenred mocking Daniel that way, but it’s better than him actually expressing it verbally.

“I wouldn’t eat dog dirt,” Daniel says firmly. “Miss Farley says that’s naughty.”

“‘Miss Farley says that’s naughty,’” Cenred mimics in a high voice. “God help the teacher that has to spend all day with you retards.”

“Shut up,” Merlin says before he can stop himself. Across the table he can see that Evan is gripping his fork very tightly.

“Excuse me?” Cenred says slowly.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Merlin says.

“Or what?” Cenred says in a dangerous tone, leaning towards Merlin.

Whether by accident or on purpose, Mary chooses this moment to knock her water over into Cenred’s lap.

“Jesus!” he shouts, jumping to his feet.

Mary starts muttering out apologies, grabbing some kitchen towel from the side but Cenred pushes her hands away.

“I might as well just change,” he snarls and storms out of the room.

Mary finishes wiping off Cenred’s chair and then gives the boys a small smile. It doesn’t quite fit on her face and it makes Merlin’s heart hurt.

When Cenred returns, Merlin’s transgression seems to be forgotten and for a moment he thinks there might be no disaster tonight at all. 

But then Cenred starts on Daniel again.

“What did you do today?”

“Me and Merlin went to the park and made paper boats to float in the lake. I want to be the captain of a real boat when I’m older,” Daniel says happily.

Cenred snorts.

“That won’t happen, kid.”

“Why not?” Daniel asks.

“‘Cause to captain a ship you have to be clever enough to know how to navigate and steer and you ain’t.”

Evan makes a kind of choked noise from the back of his throat.

“I am clever,” Daniel says, sounding upset.

“Who told you that?”

“Miss Farley.”

“Well sorry bud, but she was just being nice. When God was handing out brains, I reckon he gave you one meant for a goldfish.”

Daniel’s face screws up like he’s about to cry and Merlin opens his mouth to cuss Cenred out, regardless of the beat-down it’s going to get him, but Daniel gets there first.

“Shut up! I hate you! You’re mean!”

And, like in a nightmare where time slows down and you’re powerless to act, Merlin watches in horror as Daniel throws his glass of milk in Cenred’s face.

For a long second there’s total silence, then Cenred lunges forward and both Merlin and Evan jump to their feet at the same time.

Cenred manages to knock Daniel to the floor before Evan gets in front of him and tries to hold him back. They grapple for a while, while Merlin tries to get Daniel to his feet and out of the room, but then Cenred breaks free and punches Evan full force in the face. He drops to the floor, dazed, and Cenred advances on Merlin and Daniel. 

Merlin pushes Daniel towards the door, blocking the way with his body, but Cenred growls and deals Merlin a stinging blow across the face that sends him crashing into the wall. Before Merlin has time to recover, Cenred picks Daniel up and heads for the stairs. Ignoring the way his head is spinning, Merlin chases after them, reaching his bedroom door just as it’s locked from the inside. He pounds on the door, desperate.

“Cenred, please! Don’t hurt him! He’s just a kid!” 

He can hear Daniel screaming and the sound of flesh hitting flesh and he can’t bear it.

“Motherfucker! You fucking coward! Come out and fight me, you bastard!”

He yells it at the top of his voice, hoping to goad Cenred into coming out, but there’s no reply; just the horrendous, heart-breaking sound of Daniel’s cries. 

“Stop! Stop it! Cenred!”

By the time it’s over, Merlin’s voice is hoarse and his hand is numb from banging on the door. Cenred steps out and Merlin looks at him, hate flowing through his veins like blood.

“Bastard,” he spits. 

Cenred comes very close, grabbing Merlin by the hair and yanking his head back.

“This is my house and I make the rules,” he hisses. “That little retard breaks them and he suffers the consequences. Just like you will if you ever talk like that to me again.”

He releases Merlin and strides away downstairs. Merlin goes straight into the bedroom, swallowing bile when he sees Daniel lying crumpled on the floor.

He walks over and Daniel whimpers in fear.

“It’s okay, it’s just me, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says soothingly.

Daniel is a mess. There’s a bright red mark on his cheek, a cut on his eyebrow, and his lip is bleeding. When Merlin lifts him onto the bed and gently takes his t-shirt off, bruises are already developing all over his torso. 

Merlin wants to cry but he can’t so he squeezes Daniel’s hand and tell him he’ll be back in a minute. He runs to the bathroom and runs the tap on a flannel. Then he goes to Evan’s room and grabs some supplies from the drawer.

Oh God, Evan.

Merlin debates going downstairs to check on him but reasons that Mary is there at least, and Daniel needs him more right now.

He goes back into the bedroom and starts to patch Daniel up. Daniel cries throughout, his whole body shaking. He’s in shock and once Merlin’s finished, he pulls the blankets up around him to try and warm him up.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe now,” he whispers, stroking Daniel’s hair. 

“He-he hurt me,” Daniel sobs out.

“I know, I know. It won’t happen again, I promise you. I’ll never let him near you again.”

Daniel cries for so long that Merlin eventually gets into bed with him, holding him close. He’s given him a paracetamol but Merlin knows it won’t help much with the pain. Fortunately, it does relax his muscles enough to send him to sleep.

When Merlin’s sure that Daniel’s fast asleep, he slips out of bed and goes downstairs. Evan’s sitting at the kitchen table, holding a bag of frozen peas to his face. From the sound of it, Mary’s washing up in the kitchen.

“Cenred?” Merlin says, tense.

“Gone out,” Evan says and Merlin instantly relaxes.

“Are you okay?”

“Had worse,” Evan says. “Bastard knocked me for six, I couldn’t… I couldn’t get up in time.”

There’s shame in his eyes.

“Neither could I,” Merlin says, because the only one who should be feeling shame about what happened is Cenred.

“How is he?”

Merlin shakes his head, and suddenly the tears that have threatened for so long begin to slip down his face.

“He’s… not good.”

He scrubs furiously at his face but Evan doesn’t look contemptuous of his weakness.

“Let’s go see him,” he says and stands up, giving Merlin a quick squeeze on the shoulder as he passes. 

Daniel is thankfully still asleep when they creep in. Evan swears softly when he sees him.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he says vehemently.

“He’ll kill you first,” Merlin says tiredly.

All the fight seems to go out of Evan and he sags down on Merlin’s bed.

“Yeah, probably,” he mutters. 

Merlin goes and sits beside him, and his voice is firm when he speaks.

“I’m calling my case worker tomorrow. It’s enough now, okay? It’s enough.”

Evan looks like he might protest but he glances at Daniel’s bed and that seems to make up his mind.

“Okay. I’ll back you up.”

Merlin nods his thanks. It’s barely past eight but he feels totally exhausted. 

“I’m gonna sleep with Daniel tonight. Do you wanna-”

He gestures at his own bed.

“Yeah,” Evan says. “Probably a good idea.”

It seems unlikely there’ll be another confrontation with Cenred tonight, but neither wants to take any chances. Safety in numbers and all that. And Merlin doesn’t know about Evan, but he doesn’t feel like sleeping alone.

The next day, they wait to hear Cenred leave the house before getting up. Daniel wakes up crying from a nightmare at seven, and Merlin spends the next hour whispering stories to him as they hear Cenred walking around the house. Evan doesn’t say anything, but Merlin thinks he might be listening too.

Merlin tells Daniel he has to stay in bed for the day, and it’s a mark of how much pain he must be in that he agrees, because he normally hates not being active. Evan brings up toast with jam and Merlin feeds it to him, trying to turn it into a game. Daniel still looks shell shocked, a purple bruise livid on his cheek. His split lip makes it hard for him to eat, and Merlin gives him another paracetamol when he’s finished. By the time Merlin and Evan are dressed, Daniel’s asleep again. 

They tiptoe downstairs and find Mary in the kitchen.

“How is he?” she says quietly.

“Like you care,” Evan says rudely and Mary flinches.

“We’re going out,” Merlin says in a gentler tone. “Can you keep an eye on Daniel?”

She nods and he almost laughs at how wrong this all this, like he’s the parent and she’s the child.

They walk briskly to the payphone down the street and Merlin dials the number he knows by heart.

He doesn’t explain on the phone, just asks Gwen to come and meet them in the bandstand of the nearby park. When she arrives, she blanches at the obvious bruises on their faces.

“What happened?”

“Cenred,” Merlin says wearily.

“He hit you? Both of you?”

“Yeah, but that ain’t the worst of it,” Evan says, a scowl set on his face. Merlin’s aware that although he agreed to come along, Evan has no reason to trust Gwen like Merlin does.

“Gwen he… he beat up Daniel,” Merlin says, a little desperately.

He can see the pain in Gwen’s eyes but her voice is calm when she speaks.

“Okay. How bad was it? Does he need medical attention?”

“I don’t think so; I mean I tried to patch him up but…”

“Is he at home now?”

They nod.

“Is Cenred there?”

“No, he’s at work, won’t be back till six.”

“And Mary?”

“She’s there, but she’s not… she won’t hurt him.”

“But she didn’t call the police when this happened?”

“Nope,” Evan says bitterly. “She’s right under his thumb.”

“Evan,” Merlin says. “She’s his victim too.”

Evan just shrugs.

“Okay, let’s go back and see Daniel then,” Gwen says and they set off walking.

They let themselves in and Merlin ushers Gwen upstairs. When they enter the bedroom, Daniel wakes up.

“Merlin?” he says sleepily.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Merlin says, perching on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Hurts,” Daniel says.

“I know,” Merlin replies, stroking his hair. “I brought a friend to see you. You remember Gwen?”

“Hi Daniel,” Gwen says, coming forward. “I want to just check how you are, if that’s okay?”

Daniel looks anxiously at Merlin, and he nods reassuringly.

“Gwen’s a good friend of mine, she’s here to help. Will you let me take off your top to show her your tummy?”

Daniel nods slowly, his eyes frightened. Merlin helps him out of the t-shirt as gently as he can.

Gwen steps forward and looks at the bruises. They’re much worse in the morning light and he sees Evan clenching his fists in the background.

“Does it hurt when you breathe Daniel?” she says softly. 

“Not really,” Daniel mumbles.

“Okay, that’s good.” Gwen says encouragingly. She leans in to look at the marks on his face and Merlin grabs Mr Cuddles to distract Daniel.

“Mr Cuddles wants to go for a teddy bear’s picnic when you’re feeling better,” he says. 

“Yes I do!” he adds in a growly voice and Daniel giggles.

“But now Mr Cuddles wants to take a nap and he wants you to nap with him.” Merlin says, making the bear walk across the covers.

“Okay,” Daniel says, yawning widely. He reaches out for the teddy and then flops back onto the pillow.

“I’ll just be over here,” Merlin says, and he kisses Daniel’s forehead before walking to the other side of the room with Gwen.

“I think he’ll be alright. Physically I mean,” Gwen says. “You two did a good job fixing him up. Now, I need to ask you boys some questions.”

Evan looks vaguely mutinous but they both sit down on Merlin’s bed.

“Is this the first time that Cenred’s been violent?”

When it looks like Evan isn’t going to answer, Merlin does.

“No. He hits us all the time. It’s just the first time he ever touched Daniel.”

“And how long has this been going on?”

“A few months for me. Longer for Evan.”

Gwen looks stricken.

“Merlin, why didn’t you tell me? When I came to visit you?”

Merlin shrugs, uneasy. He doesn’t really want to explain his thought process because it barely makes sense to him, let alone anyone else.

Luckily Gwen drops it.

“Evan, when Merlin says it was longer for you-"

“I moved in a year and a bit ago,” Evan interrupts. “He started on me the second month.”

“And did you ever tell anyone?”

“Nope,” Evan says defiantly.

“Okay. Well I’m glad you both called me. Obviously you won’t be staying here any longer.”

Merlin’s heart lifts but Evan looks sceptical. 

“Cenred won’t let us go without a fight,” he says grimly.

“Cenred will be behind bars if I have anything to do with it,” Gwen says fiercely and for the first time, Evan cracks a smile at her.

____________________________________________________________________

 

Despite how slow all the care processes feel sometimes, Gwen keeps her promise of getting them out of there straightaway. She takes them to Sycamore, where the police come to interview them all and take photos of their injuries. She tells them that Cenred has been arrested, and they may have to testify at his trial at some point.

“Not Daniel?” Merlin says anxiously, because he doesn’t want to put him through that. 

“He can probably testify by video link,” Gwen says reassuringly. “You probably all can.”

“Hell, no,” Evan says. “When that bastard gets sent down, I wanna be looking him in the eye.”

Merlin snorts with laughter, glad that Evan’s rebelliousness hasn’t been completely stamped out by recent events.

Gwen goes to get them some lunch and Merlin follows her into the kitchen.

“What happens now?” he says. “I mean, I guess I’m coming back here but-”

“Well, Evan will probably go back to the home he was in before he was fostered. And possibly the same will go for Daniel, I’m still waiting for his case worker to call me back.”

Merlin doesn’t make a plea for Evan because he knows when he turns sixteen in a few months, he’ll be leaving care for good. But he has to try for Daniel.

“Can’t he stay here?”

“Oh, Merlin. There’s no room here, it’s sheer luck that your bed was still available.”

“He can share my bed,” Merlin argues. “People come and go all the time here; I bet a place’ll come up soon.”

“But his school is too far away from here. He’d be better back at Burnham House, that’s much closer.”

“He’d be better here with me,” Merlin says firmly. “I know how to look after him.”

“I know you’ve formed a bond with him but-”

“Can’t you just listen to me, for once?” Merlin explodes. 

“I am listening. But I can’t change the circumstances,” Gwen says sadly.

“This is bullshit,” Merlin shouts. “It’s just… it’s bullshit!”

He storms out of the kitchen and into the backyard, planting a firm kick against the big old tree.

Here he is, back again, because apparently he can never get away from this place. And now the one good thing that’s happened to him since Gaius died is gonna be taken away from him.

Merlin swears, punctuating each word with a kick to the tree.

He becomes aware of someone watching him after a while and turns to see Evan.

“Is that helping any?”

“No,” Merlin says, aiming one last savage kick anyway.

“I heard you in the kitchen.”

“What’s it to you?” Merlin says rudely.

“Nothing,” Evan says, with his trademark shrug. “Just reckon it’s a waste of time beating up a tree when you could be enjoying your last day with Daniel.”

He wanders back inside and Merlin takes a second to be irritated with the fact that Evan’s somehow become the sensible one before he follows.

Daniel’s still sore, so Merlin tucks him up in the little guest bedroom and sits by his side. He tells him more stories and they make up silly songs together.

Merlin asks him how he feels about going back to Burnham House and Daniel says he doesn’t mind.

“I don’t want to go back to Cenred,” he says, and Merlin assures him that will never happen.

“Can you come to Burnham with me?” Daniel asks and Merlin has to fight back tears as he shakes his head.

“But I will get the bus over to see you on the weekends, okay?” he says and Daniel nods happily.

He ends up sleeping in with Daniel that night, and Evan sleeps in his old bed. The next morning, a car arrives to pick up Evan.

“Is that your case worker?” Merlin says, peering out suspiciously.

“Nope,” Evan says cheerily. “I may have let it slip to Gwen that Robert knew all about Cenred and did nothing, and I may have heard her make a few angry phone calls in the office afterwards. I reckon I might be getting a brand new case worker.”

Merlin smiles.

“Well you’ve got my email,” he says, knowing full well that Evan won’t write. 

Evan nods.

“I’ll see you around school, Merlin.”

He picks Daniel up in the air and smacks a big kiss on his forehead.

“See ya kiddo,” he says, and Daniel waves frantically as the car pulls out of the drive.

Merlin feels a twinge at seeing Evan go, but it’s nothing compared to how he feels when Daniel leaves. The lady from Burnham who comes to pick him up gives him a genuine embrace when she sees him and that makes Merlin feel slightly better about where Daniel’s headed.

“Okay Daniel, I’ll see you soon,” he says, hugging him carefully, so as not to press on his bruises. 

Daniel holds on tight.

“Promise you’ll come visit?” he whispers and Merlin nods, not trusting himself to speak.

He eventually lets him go and watches as Daniel climbs in the backseat of the car. He goes out to stand in the road so he can wave for as long as is possible, and he doesn’t stop until the car is long out of sight. 

_________________________________________________________

 

In the end, Cenred pleads guilty so none of them have to testify. Merlin’s relieved, he just wants to forget the whole thing and get back to normal. Luckily, none of the Sycamore kids are particularly interested in probing him about it; getting smacked around by a guardian isn’t exactly new to most of them. Freya and him start to spend a little more time together, but she doesn’t mention it either; seeming to understand on the days when Merlin is brooding and silent. And Gilli’s nice enough not to comment on the nights that Merlin wakes up in a cold sweat, trembling all over from a nightmare about Cenred.

His weekend visits to see Daniel continue for almost six months, until the news comes that Daniel’s being fostered again. He seems so excited that Merlin has to try and be happy for him, even though his new family live two towns away, too far for Merlin to visit. He makes sure he gets Daniel’s address and has him swear to write if anything at all goes wrong, but his new parents seem to be good people. Merlin writes every week anyway and sticks the drawings Daniel sends him up by his bed.

Sycamore doesn’t feel like it’s changed much in his absence. Nimueh is gone and has been replaced by a gentle girl named Alice, who’s deaf and can read lips. She hangs out with Freya and Merlin sometimes and makes them laugh by pretending to lip read Val and Alvarr’s conversations, which usually descend into mad declarations of love for one another.

Val and Alvarr are still as offensive as ever but Merlin’s not scared of them anymore, not after so many showdowns with Cenred. They mostly leave him alone now, and he sometimes steps in if he catches them picking on the little ones.

School is the same too, the only difference being that Merlin’s grades are in decline. They’ve been slipping ever since he went to live with Cenred, and even though he’s back in a (slightly) more stable environment now, Merlin’s not particularly interested in correcting them. He’s been back about six months when Elena sits him down with his latest report and asks if there’s a problem. He points out that getting Bs and Cs isn’t exactly disastrous compared to every other kid in the house, most of whom are outright failing. He’s pretty sure Val doesn’t know how to read, and Freya’s severely dyslexic, and most of the rest of them just can’t be bothered. Hence he’s still doing the best in the house. So what if he used to get straight As?

“I thought you wanted to be a doctor,” Elena points out in her usual frank way.

“Too much hard work,” Merlin says.

Elena sighs heavily.

“Seems like a waste of a lot of potential.”

Merlin gives her a blank stare, one he’s been perfecting over the last few months when his teachers ask him why his homework’s late or where his textbook is. He may not be an A student anymore, but he’s smart enough to know that his teachers have basically no expectations of care kids like him. They don’t push him, don’t give him extra reading, don’t take him aside for little motivational pep talks. Everyone knows that care kids don’t achieve in school, often leave before their A-Levels, and almost never go to university. As far as they’re concerned, he’s a fourteen year old lost cause.

It suits Merlin that way. He drifts, wanting to go unseen, be lost in a crowd. He used to crave adult attention; now it’s the last thing he wants. Alone is better. Alone is safe.

It’s as much of a surprise to him as it is to anyone else then that he agrees to be fostered by the Muirden family.

He’s fifteen and he’s finally had a growth spurt, though he’s still among the smaller ones in his class. But he’s no longer so small that he looks younger than his age. He’s one of the older ones in Sycamore now – Gilli and Sophia have both aged out, and he shares his room with a skinny eleven year old called Owen who he's never heard utter more than two or three words at a time. The silence suits him anyway. 

It’s only a few days after his fifteenth birthday that he meets Edwin for the first time. Not that he hasn’t seen him before – Edwin came to the last house event, and his face sticks in the memory. There’s a jagged scar running across one side, as eye-catching as any he’s seen in a gangster movie.

He asks Edwin about it when they first speak, because he says what’s on his mind nowadays and isn’t too interested in how it makes him come across.

Edwin doesn’t seem offended. He laughs.

“Guess.”

“You got in a fight with a bear,” Merlin says instantly.

“If only.”

“Your first wife caught you cheating and attacked you with a broken bottle.”

“I only have one wife, and if she caught me cheating I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t leave me alive.”

“You got in deep with the mob and they carved you up as a warning.”

“Oh dear, the truth’s going to be very uninteresting after all this.”

“What is it?”

“I used to be a mountain climber, and I took a nasty fall when I was twenty five. Tore my face up on a rock.”

“Boring,” Merlin says.

Edwin smiles regretfully.

“It is, isn’t it? Do you think I should start telling people the bear thing?”

“Definitely,” Merlin says, sitting down on one of the plastic lawn chairs.

Edwin sits next to him.

“It’s Merlin, isn’t it?”

“How do you know?”

“I asked. The nice blonde lady over there with the insane jumper on.”

Merlin follows his eye line and sees Elena, clad in one of her customarily awful sweatshirts – this one seeming to be made entirely of rainbow coloured puffballs.

“Why did you ask?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“About fostering me?”

“Bit early for that. But yes, it crossed my mind.”

“Why?” Merlin says bluntly. “Why me? Why don’t you want a little kid or a girl or someone who didn’t walk up to you and ask what was wrong with your face?”

Edwin laughs again.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you? Fine, total honesty, cards on the table. I have a son about your age. He’s been sick for quite a while, and though he’s better now, he’s still recovering. My wife is the director of a company and travels extensively. I work too, and I worry that he’s on his own all the time. His confidence is a bit shot by being ill for so long, and he doesn’t have much of a social life.”

“So you want me to come and be his buddy?”

“Something like that. I think it would be good for him, for all of us, to have another young person in the house.”

Merlin stares him down for a while.

“If you tell them lot that, they won’t let you foster me. You’re meant to be here because you and your wife love kids and your family isn’t complete and you want to nurture my young soul.”

“I do love kids,” Edwin says calmly. “I always wanted another child, but there were complications after Mordred was born and my wife couldn’t have any more. I often brought up the idea of fostering and adoption. But she was less keen and Mordred being an only child mattered less until the last couple of years. Now she agrees with me.”

“And what makes you think I’d be interested in being some bought playmate for your son?”

For the first time, Edwin looks pained.

“That’s not what this is Merlin, believe me. I do think it would be good for Mordred having someone his own age around, but I also want another kid, always have. I’d only want you to come if you wanted to.”

He pauses for a second, then turns to look directly at Merlin.

“I didn’t have the greatest childhood, and my parents weren’t up to much. I want better for my kid, and in a way I want better for all kids. I doubt you’re looking for a new mum or dad Merlin, but if you want to stay with a reasonably sane family who would genuinely like having you around, the offer’s there.”

He stands up.

“Look, this is all a bit heavy for a first meeting, and it’s probably not what you’re looking for, but I wanted to be honest with you.”

He starts to walk away and part of Merlin wants to let him go, but another part…

“Wait!”

Edwin turns back.

“You don’t know me,” Merlin says.

“No,” Edwin agrees.

“And I don’t know you. But I guess maybe you could come by again and we could see how it goes.”

He’s not really sure about the words coming out of his mouth but there’s a voice in his head saying, at least try. No commitments. Just try.

Edwin smiles, nods.

“Okay. Let’s do that.”

So they do. Edwin brings his wife Catrina along the next time and she’s nice enough. She’s clearly a powerful woman; dressed in a smart blouse and trousers, with little clicky heels and an iPhone that never stops ringing. It seems an odd contrast to Edwin, who wears jeans and jumpers, and has a relaxed, unassuming air about him. Merlin senses that Catrina’s the kind of woman who always has one eye on business matters, whatever she’s doing, but that doesn’t particularly bother him. She’s so clearly the alpha in her and Edwin’s relationship that he doesn’t feel anxious like he did with Mary, knowing she couldn’t protect him.

Not that Edwin seems like the kind of man that Merlin would need protection from, however. With Cenred in mind, Merlin spends several of their visits attempting to goad Edwin into losing his temper, into finally revealing his true colours. But Edwin remains affable throughout.

“I have no idea why you’re fighting so hard, but you’re not driving me away you know,” he says, a few of months after the first meeting.

Merlin scrutinises him.

“Let’s just say I have my doubts,” he says at last.

Edwin smiles.

“I’ve never met such a suspicious teenager in my life. You’d make a good private detective.”

Merlin laughs in spite of himself, and Edwin grins back.

“Regular Philip Marlowe you are.”

“Who?” Merlin says.

“He’s a PI from a series of books. They made films too; do you know who Humphrey Bogart is?”

“No.”

“Then I must introduce you to the man and the legend! He played Marlowe in a great film called The Big Sleep; we’ll have to watch it some time.”

It’s that that does it for some reason. Looking at Edwin, nerdily excited about the prospect of showing Merlin some old movie, just seems to clinch it. He’s not a danger. He’s not in for the money. He’s just a normal, unthreatening guy who could make Merlin’s life a lot easier.

He says yes to being fostered. He thinks he’s figured Edwin out, that he’s going in this time with eyes wide open. Years later he’ll reflect that at fifteen he had no way of knowing how well people can conceal themselves; no way of understanding that those who seem most unthreatening can strike in unexpected ways.

 

___________________________________________________________

 

Gwen is more guarded the second time around when driving him to his new foster home. She exacts a solemn promise from him to call her the instant anything goes wrong, not to suffer in silence like last time.

“Not that anything will go wrong, Merlin. I just want to be clear.”

Merlin nods. Leaving Sycamore was easier this time, although Freya had wept horribly. It helped a bit that he’d already been on a weekend visit to the Muirden’s, and the house was – to put it simply – incredible. He’d figured that Catrina probably made a fair bit of money as a company director but he hadn’t expected a mansion. The place had six bedrooms, three Jacuzzis, and a huge garden that extended way out behind the house. His room was huge, with his own en-suite bathroom and a massive double bed with the softest sheets he’d ever felt.

He’d met Mordred too, and was pleased to find he had no reason to be intimidated. He had a vague idea Mordred might resent him for muscling in on his house and family, but he’d seem no sign of it yet. Not that Mordred had been effusive in greeting him, as he was still obviously quite ill. He was well enough to get out of bed and move around the house, which Edwin said was a massive improvement, but he was pale and thin; dark eyes like tunnels in his face.

But he’d shaken Merlin’s hand and offered him use of his many game consoles any time he wanted. Merlin was happy with that. If he was going to live in this palatial house (where he suspected every material whim would be catered to) he was more than willing to pal around with the sickly son in exchange.

Mordred comes down to greet Merlin again as he enters the house, and they all have dinner together. Gwen leaves shortly afterwards, and Edwin suggests a board game. Merlin doesn’t think much of that idea but it turns out to be surprisingly fun; even Catrina puts her phone aside to get involved. Although Mordred plays, he remains almost silent throughout, and Merlin realises that he must get tired very quickly. This is confirmed when Edwin suggests he go to bed at half eight and Mordred made no protest. Merlin stays where he is, suddenly awkward, but Edwin notices.

“Don’t worry Merlin, you live here now, you’re not obligated to do anything. Go to bed if you want, read a book, watch TV, it’s all fine.”

Under Edwin’s warm smile, Merlin relaxes. He decides to go and unpack, and then spends a while just admiring his new room, running his fingers along the pale blue walls and smooth oak furniture.

He can’t believe he lives here now. It doesn’t seem real.

 

That feeling persists through the first few months he’s there. Edwin wasn’t exaggerating about Catrina’s work schedule, she seems to be away much more than she’s home, so it’s usually just the three of them.

Mordred has a tutor come in the day while Merlin goes to school. Mindful of his unspoken promise to Edwin, Merlin makes sure to spend a good part of his free time with Mordred. It’s a mixed bag. They hang out most evenings and weekends, but Mordred always seems so exhausted, and Merlin sometimes worries he’s tiring him out. Most often they end up watching movies sat in Mordred’s bed, that way Mordred can drift off if he needs to.

Mordred still doesn’t talk much, but the silence isn’t unfriendly. There were a few quiet types at Sycamore and Merlin doesn’t mind it. What he does mind is the fact that Mordred’s so obviously unhappy and Merlin can’t seem to cheer him up. It seems the illness has taken a terrible toll on Mordred’s general wellbeing; he seems constantly sad and distant. The comedy films they watch barely make him laugh, and he doesn’t react much when Merlin tries to jolly him along. 

He doesn’t mention it to Edwin because he knows the man is well aware of it; can see it in the mournful way he watches his son across the room sometimes. Merlin’s known a lot of broken kids in his life, and he can see it in Mordred, but what can he do? Only hope that the guy can get well enough to recover his lost confidence.

The situation with Mordred is the same for so long that the day it’s not is extra jarring. It’s a Friday night, and Merlin’s so tired from being forced to participate in a cross country run at school that he ends up being the one to fall asleep in Mordred’s bed while the film’s on. 

He wakes with an odd feeling, like someone’s tickling him or something, only he’s not being tickled, it’s…

Mordred has his hand on Merlin’s crotch and he’s rubbing it slowly.

“What the fuck?” Merlin says instantly, without heat. He’s still in a daze.

Mordred stops rubbing but he doesn’t take his hand off Merlin’s jeans.

“I wanted to say thank you. For always hanging out with me. I know it’s boring.”

Merlin gapes.

“That’s how you say thank you?” he says, shoving Mordred’s hand off his lap.

Mordred shrugs.

It’s such an intensely weird moment. It’s not as if the first time something like this has happened to Merlin; loads of the Sycamore kids had all kinds of fucked up sexual boundaries, and things sometimes got out of hand. Sophia had tried to climb into his bed one night when he was thirteen but Gilli had sent her packing; and a short stay kid called Julian had a habit of trying to molest anyone he could get his hands on at the dinner table before he was moved on. 

But it’s Mordred, silent, inert Mordred who can barely walk all the way up the stairs and suddenly he’s trying to jack Merlin off? It makes no sense.

“Why would you do that?” he says.

“I thought you’d like it,” Mordred says without emotion.

In another time, another place perhaps… Merlin’s known for a little while that he’s gay. Girls have never done much for him, but he’s increasingly been noticing the boys in his class, as their voices drop and their muscles develop. He sits next to a guy called Max in English and he often imagines what Max might look like naked, how it might be one day if they met up outside of school and one thing led to another…

He hasn’t acted on any of this. He’s still the freaky care kid at his school anyway, and he highly doubts Max would give him a second glance even if he was gay, but the thoughts still linger. He is a fifteen year old boy; he’s naturally keen for someone other than himself to touch his privates.

But now, like this…

Mordred is not unattractive. He may be pale and too thin, but his skin is creamily soft and his eyes are big and dark, with long feminine eyelashes. In other circumstances, Merlin would be quite happy to let him continue, but this is just weird. Wrong. They’re foster brothers for a start (not that Merlin’s felt any particularly brotherly feelings towards him as yet) and he’s meant to be looking out for Mordred. Edwin definitely didn’t bring him into his house to molest his son (not that Merlin’s the one doing the molesting at the moment). 

“Probably a bad idea,” Merlin says as gently as he can. He doesn’t want to start yelling at Mordred; the situation was awkward beyond belief, and yes it was creepy that he waited for Merlin to be asleep before he made his move, but Mordred’s not an enemy. Merlin can only assume he’s just incredibly confused.

Mordred makes no further attempts, just nods and lies back down on the pillows. He’s asleep within minutes, leaving Merlin to slip out of the room and back to his own. He sits down on his own bed and tries to gather his thoughts.

Just an awkward pass from a kid who hadn’t been around other young people for too long. Probably too much time away from people your own age could warp your idea of what was acceptable. Merlin resolves to put it out of his mind.

___________________________________________________________________________

 

In retrospect, Mordred’s action serves as an early warning but by the time Merlin understands why, it’s far too late. 

Perhaps it was too late the day he walked into the house. Or the day he first met Edwin. In his more melancholy moods, Merlin wonders if it was too late the day his mum died.

The night Edwin climbs into his bed, Merlin freezes.

At school he was taught about the fight or flight instinct. Then he saw it in practice when he spent all his time trying to run from Cenred while Evan hunkered down for the fight. Much later, he learns that it’s more often called the fight/flight/freeze instinct nowadays. There’s more recognition for the fact that in some traumatic or life threatening situations, the body just shuts down. No burst of adrenaline to help you flee or struggle. Just the sudden inability to move in any way, as if an animal playing dead in front of a predator.

The second he wakes up to feel Edwin pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, his whole body pressed against him under the duvet, he goes completely still. He doesn’t move a muscle, not even when Edwin slips his hands into his pyjama bottoms and begins to stroke him. His brain feels stuck, like a record when it scratches, he can’t really think of anything other than staying as motionless as possible.

Edwin doesn’t speak the whole time, and after he’s gone Merlin could almost believe he imagined the whole thing, but for the stickiness in his underwear. 

He gets up to take a shower in the en-suite, moving on auto-pilot. When he’s finished, he changes his pyjamas and gets back into bed. The next day he gets up, has breakfast, and goes to school as normal.

It doesn’t happen again for a month, in which time Merlin’s almost convinced himself that it was a one off. This time, he doesn’t open his eyes at all. He has a wild, desperate hope that maybe Edwin will think he’s sleeping and leave him alone.

He doesn’t.

And it doesn’t work the next time either.

Merlin feels… nothing. Everything has changed and yet it hasn’t at the same time. In the day, Edwin is the same as he always was, joking around and burning toast and raving about old movies. Merlin can’t connect the dots. It might be different if Edwin ever spoke to him on the nights he comes, but his silence separates him from the daytime Edwin, as though he’s some kind of doppelganger. They’re not the same person in Merlin’s mind, and it’s this disconnect that allows him to carry on functioning – to sit at the kitchen table and watch television and drive to school with Edwin like he did before.

To this end, he reasons that night-time Edwin must be thwarted, the doppelganger laid low. He hatches a plan; he starts slipping into Mordred’s bed after dinner to watch films with him and then falling asleep right there and then. The doppelganger can’t get him if he’s not alone.

The night that Edwin comes into Mordred’s room, Merlin thinks he’s been found out. Then he sees the look of surprise on Edwin’s face, and realises that Edwin hadn’t come looking for Merlin at all. 

Edwin leaves instantly, and Merlin spends the night staring at the wall.

The next day he can’t think of any better plan than to sleep in Mordred’s bed again. But this time when Edwin enters, he closes the door behind him. 

“How long has this been going on?”

His voice is loud enough to stir Mordred from sleep but there’s no anger in it.

Merlin’s never heard the doppelganger speak before, and his mouth runs dry.

“Dad?” Mordred mumbles, hazy with sleep.

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Merlin were together? Did you think I’d be mad?” Edwin says.

Mordred doesn’t answer but he sits up against the pillows. Merlin remains lying down, frozen in place.

“I’m not mad. I think it’s great.”

Edwin smiles at them, the moonlight reflecting off his face.

“Why don’t you show me what you get up to?”

Merlin’s eyes are fixed on a moth on the ceiling. It walks back and forth, fluttering its wings slightly.

“It’s okay,” Mordred’s voice says near his ear, then he feels his pyjama bottoms being tugged down. The cool air hits him, then there’s a soft wetness closing around him.

Merlin stares at the moth, watching as it flits from side to side, never breaking into flight. Edwin’s making soft groaning noises from across the room but it doesn’t matter because Merlin’s not really there, he’s on the ceiling with the moth, walking back and forth, back and forth.

When it’s over, and Edwin leaves the room, Merlin thinks he hears a small “sorry” in the darkness. He doesn’t say anything, just gets up slowly and opens the door, picking his way across the landing until he reaches his bedroom. He dresses quickly, and tiptoes downstairs, puts on his brand new, incredibly expensive quilted jacket that Edwin had insisted on buying him for the winter, and slips out of the house.

It’s about one in the morning and the sky is clear. He walks for a long time, his feet leading the way, until he finds himself outside the house where he and Gaius lived. 

There’s some plants sitting on the windowsill that weren’t there before, and the front door’s been painted green, but other than that it’s the same as he remembers it. He sits down in the tiny front garden and doesn’t think about anything for a long time.

When the sun rises and he sees the paper boy at the end of the street, he gets up and walks into town. He finds an all-night café and sits there until it’s past seven. Then he asks the waitress if he can use the phone and dials Gwen’s number.

 

_____________________________________________________________

 

He goes back to Sycamore House and stays there until he’s seventeen. Then he manages to get a job in a local garage, and one of his co-workers, a blunt speaking twenty year old called Will, offers to let him crash on his sofa if he chips in with the rent. Merlin drops out of school the very next day and moves his belongings into Will’s tiny flat. Elena and Tristan advise him against it, but there’s nothing they can do legally. Gwen tells him she’ll continue to look out for him until he turns eighteen, and he can come to her anytime if he needs her. He never does.

Merlin’s new life begins. He works five days a week at the garage, plus any extra shifts he’s offered. At night he goes out to bars or clubs or even just local parks, and picks men up. He goes back to theirs, unless Will’s away; and if they don’t want him coming home with them he’ll just pull them into a toilet or an alleyway or wherever’s near and convenient. He uses condoms when they insist, doesn’t when they don’t, and if the opportunity presents itself he slips his hand into their pocket and steals their wallet.

After a year or so, he and Will are both earning enough to move into a flat with two bedrooms. He still tends not to bring men home because, despite Will not caring about him being gay, he’s rarely impressed with the calibre of man that Merlin entertains.

Merlin’s not interested in their calibre. A fuck’s a fuck as far as he’s concerned, and so much the better if he can help himself to a couple of tenners at the same time. Once or twice he gets caught and gets the shit kicked out of him, but it’s not enough to make him stop.

Will looks at him some mornings, the ones when Merlin blearily staggers into the kitchen with bloodshot eyes and puffy red lips, and it seems like he’s going to say something. But he never does and Merlin’s grateful because in fact Will doesn’t have to. Merlin knows it all already. Knows he’s a slag, knows he’s an waster, knows he drinks too much and thinks too little and he’s never gonna be anything more than this. He knows all this and he doesn’t care.

And then Arthur comes along.


	2. May It Happen For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, finishing this was like pulling teeth for some reason :) it's still a bit rough but I hope you'll forgive its imperfections. 
> 
> Quick note: Merlin is 21 at the start of this chapter and Arthur is 23. Also, I realised at the end of the last chapter I made it sound a bit like Merlin was a prostitute, which he isn't. He just sleeps with a lot of guys, and steals from them if he can.
> 
> Warning for a brief suicide reference.

_“Sometimes things don't go, after all, from bad to worse.”_

~ **Sometimes, Sheena Pugh**

The funny thing is, it’s not actually Arthur who catches his eye that night.

Merlin has his sights firmly set on a good looking long haired bloke that he’s seen in Avalon a few times before. He initially abandoned all hope when he saw the guy leave the club with a petite blonde girl one night; but the next time he spotted him, he was on the dance floor sucking face with a redhead who was definitely of the male persuasion.

When he spots him on the other side of the room, Merlin decides tonight’s going to be the night. He knocks back a couple of drinks and makes his way over to the dance floor, not far from where the guy is dancing with a couple of friends. Merlin barely even spares the short girl and the blonde man a glance; his main objective is getting the guy on his own. 

He makes sure to keep his eyes locked on his target and eventually the guy meets his gaze. Merlin half-smiles, quirking one eyebrow, and the guy’s face splits into a grin. Result.

Confident that the bloke will follow him, Merlin walks off the dance floor to stand by the bar at the side where the music’s not so loud. Sure enough, when he turns, the guy’s making his way over. Merlin leans back against the bar, feeling a pleasant shiver of anticipation run through him. Couldn’t have been easier.

And then. The guy is suddenly intercepted by his blonde mate. They have a short conversation which ends with the guy nodding. He then turns in Merlin’s direction and gives him a sort of ‘what can you do’ shrug, before heading towards the club’s exit.

Fuck’s sake! Merlin clenches his fists in annoyance. It’s beginning to look like he’ll never get a shot with that guy.

He notices the blonde friend is making his way across the room, and he spins round to face the bar in irritation, because as far as he’s concerned Blondie just cost him a fuck.

He turns his head just as the guy reaches the bar, just to glare at him, not expecting the blonde to turn and look at him at the exact same time.

Blue eyes. That’s all he sees for a second; big blue eyes flashing in the garish lights of the club. Then he takes in the rest of the face and his first, embarrassing thought is that the guy looks a bit like a Disney prince come to life.

His second thought is that he’s clearly had more to drink that he’s realised.

He drops his gaze, subtly sweeping down the guy’s body; taking in the black jeans and tight red t-shirt fitting round sculpted muscles. 

He’s probably not even gay. 

He looks up again to find the guy unabashedly scoping him out.

On second thoughts…

“Having a good night?” the guy says. His voice is a bit posh, in a good way. Sort of domineering.

Merlin takes a step closer to him.

“Better now,” he says, and the guy grins a little.

“I’m Arthur,” he says.

Prince Arthur Merlin thinks, then mentally slaps himself.

“Merlin,” he says smoothly. “What are you drinking?”

“I don’t know yet-” Arthur starts to say and Merlin cuts him off by leaning over the bar.

“Two tequilas,” he mouths at the bartender.

The shots come with slices of lime perched on top, and a salt shaker. Merlin licks his hand in a none-too-subtle manner before sprinkling the salt on, and Arthur watches him.

They’re holding eye contact as they raise the shots and Merlin winks.

“Cheers,” he says and slugs his down, before biting on the lime.

There’s a pleasant burn in the back of his throat and he reaches out to touch Arthur’s arm.

“Wanna dance?” he says.

They make their way to the dance floor. The song playing is generic, over-produced, but Merlin lets the rhythm wind through his body. He presses up close against Arthur, feeling the heat of his skin, the firmness of his body. He wonders briefly what Arthur looks like under that tight t-shirt and the thought goes straight to his cock. He turns round and grinds backwards into Arthur, pushing up against his crotch until Arthur stutters out a moan in his ear. He does it again, then feels hands on his hips spinning him round to face Arthur. Merlin leans in and licks a slow line down the side of Arthur’s neck, before biting down softly. Arthur’s hands tighten on his waist, then one comes up to card through Merlin’s hair. Merlin mouths at Arthur’s neck and then begins to trail kisses up to his mouth. Just as he reaches Arthur’s lips though, he pulls away and Arthur lets out a groan.

“Tease,” he says and Merlin smirks, leaning round to lick at the shell of Arthur’s ear.

Arthur’s clearly reached his breaking point because he grabs Merlin’s chin and holds it in place before bringing his lips down to meet Merlin’s.

As first kisses go, it’s hard to beat. Arthur’s lips are soft but unyielding, pressing into Merlin’s until he opens his mouth and Arthur slips his tongue inside to deepen the kiss. One hand is still twisted in Merlin’s hair, the gentle caress a contrast to the roughness of the kiss. Merlin’s hand is on the back of Arthur’s neck but he brings his other between their bodies and snakes it up Arthur’s t-shirt, feeling along the smooth hot skin to wrap long fingers around his right nipple and tweak it.

Arthur breaks the kiss with a gasp.

“That’s it,” he growls in Merlin’s ear. “Home. Now.”

And he drags Merlin out of the club and hails a taxi with admirable ease, considering Merlin is trying to run his hand over every part of Arthur’s body.

They kiss all the way to Arthur’s in the back of the cab, ignoring the driver’s eye rolling disgust. When they arrive Arthur throws some money at the driver and manhandles Merlin up a flight of stairs and into a very nicely furnished apartment. Merlin has no time to appreciate the décor, however, as Arthur pushes him against the closed door and starts kissing and sucking at his neck.

Merlin brings his legs up to wrap around Arthur’s waist, so that the blonde is holding him upright against the door, and after a minute Arthur carries him like that into the bedroom. He drops Merlin on the bed and immediately begins tugging at the hem of Merlin’s shirt. Merlin obliges by holding his arms up and allowing Arthur to rip the shirt from his shoulders. Arthur climbs onto the bed to straddle him and begins to lick at his chest, moving his mouth until he’s laving his tongue over Merlin’s nipples. Merlin groans and bucks his hips upwards, feeling his nipples peak and stiffen and his cock grow harder in response.

He gestures wordlessly at Arthur’s t-shirt and Arthur pulls it straight off. Merlin can’t help but make a soft noise of appreciation at the expanse of golden skin suddenly revealed to him. He reaches out to touch but Arthur pins his wrists above his head with one hand and uses the other to flick and caress Merlin’s already sensitised nipples until a whimper escapes his mouth.

It’s too much for Merlin. He’s used to a quick fuck in whatever location is available. The guys he usually goes with rarely waste more than a minute or two on foreplay before skipping to the main show and he’s not accustomed to the amount of attention Arthur’s paying to him.

Arthur bites his collarbone and he thrashes momentarily against the hand pinning his wrists.

“Tease,” he pants out and Arthur grins down at him.

“Ask nicely.”

Merlin wants to hold out, to pretend he doesn’t care, but his cock is straining against his jeans and he needs relief so badly…

“My cock,” he gasps as Arthur gives his left nipple a gentle twist. “Need you to suck…”

“Say please,” Arthur says and Merlin bares his teeth before conceding.

“Please,” he chokes out and Arthur instantly releases his wrists, leaning down to draw off his jeans and boxers.

Merlin bites back a cry when his aching cock is finally free. Arthur actually licks his lips when he looks down at it, and fuck if that doesn’t make Merlin want to come right there and then. He bucks up again, frantically, but Arthur’s holding his legs down now.

“Patience,” he purrs, then leans in to lick a long stripe up the underside of Merlin’s cock.

“Arthur, if you don’t put it in your mouth, I swear to God…”

Arthur grins that stupid grin again and Merlin feels like screaming in frustration. But then he feels a pair of hot lips close around the head of his cock and his stomach spasms pleasurably as Arthur takes him all the way in. It feels so good that Merlin has to exert some control to not come right there and then, which isn’t normally a problem for him. He writhes slightly, reaching out a shaky hand to run through Arthur’s golden hair as his head bobs up and down. 

He’s been turned on for too long and when he feels the signs of his impending orgasm, he doesn’t fight it. But Arthur must sense them too, because to Merlin’s horror, he stops.

“What are you doing?” Merlin all but screams.

“You’re not coming yet,” Arthur says calmly. “Not till I get inside you.”

Fucking hell. The words alone are enough to send a tremor through Merlin’s painfully hard cock.

“Hurry the fuck up then,” he whines, not caring how he sounds. Arthur presses a kiss to his lip and then slides off the bed and opens up the drawer in his bedside table, producing a condom and a bottle of lube. He slips his jeans off before getting back on the bed, but leaves his boxers on. Merlin’s already spread his legs in preparation and Arthur kneels between them, slicking up his fingers.

“That’s it Merlin, open up for me,” he murmurs and swirls one cool, wet finger around Merlin’s entrance.

“Come on!” Merlin breathes and Arthur obliges, sliding his finger in to the knuckle; his free hand stroking through the sweaty hair stuck to Merlin’s forehead.

He adds a second finger and Merlin keens, twisting desperately at the sensation. Arthur’s deft fingers search out the little nerve bundle inside him and Merlin shudders, knowing he can’t take much more.

“Now… do it now…” he moans and finally, finally, Arthur takes his boxers off.

His cock is perfect, just like Merlin knew it would be, and he draws his knees up to his body, offering himself like a prize. 

Arthur puts a condom on before slicking himself and lining up at Merlin’s entrance, hands on either side of Merlin’s body, eyes staring into his.

“Arthur, please…” Merlin begs.

Arthur pushes in.

Merlin’s no stranger to this but Arthur’s bigger than average and there’s a twinge of discomfort, before the pleasure filters through and Merlin’s moaning wantonly. Arthur seems to have finally lost his composure too; his breathing has quickened and his skin is flushed with arousal. He fucks into Merlin slowly at first, then speeds up at Merlin’s request. He presses hard, needy kisses to Merlin’s lips as he thrusts in and out, and Merlin’s so close now that it only takes two quick strokes of his cock by Arthur’s hand before he’s coming everywhere, white light flashing in his eyes, his whole body jittering. Arthur follows a minute later and Merlin feels his insides fill with warm wetness as Arthur collapses on top of him.

They stay like that for a while, catching their breath, and then Arthur pulls out carefully and flops down next to Merlin.

“Wow, that was… yeah.”

It’s not a complete sentence but Merlin agrees with it anyway. He hasn’t been fucked like that in a long time, if ever. He knows he should get up and take his leave but he’s just feeling so pleasantly spent, like he just wants to lie here a bit longer…

Arthur leans over to kiss him, then surprises him by draping an arm over Merlin’s stomach and closing his eyes. He’s clearly taken it for granted that Merlin’s spending the night; and that they’re going to be cuddled up together.

Merlin knows he should leave. He knows he should but he can’t quite bring himself to move. He’s so tired.

Just a quick nap. No more than an hour. Then he’s gone.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

There’s light filtering in the windows when he wakes and he swears softly to himself when he sees the clock reads 7.30. He should have been long gone by now.

He wriggles out from under Arthur’s arm and starts pulling on his clothes. It takes him a while to locate his shirt, and when he does, it’s lying underneath Arthur’s jeans.

Arthur’s jeans with a wallet sticking out of the pocket.

Almost on auto-pilot, Merlin picks it up and looks inside.

There’s a hundred and twenty pounds cash in there.

Who the hell carries that amount of money around on a night out? Well, Arthur did sound posh and this flat clearly cost a bit, so Merlin guesses the answer is a rich person.

Rich people don’t miss money when they lose it. It’s no odds to Arthur if he takes this now.

But there’s a very small twinge of guilt inside him. Sometimes he opens the wallets of his conquests and finds pictures of a wife and family instead. On those occasions he feels totally justified in taking what cash he can.

But Arthur’s not some cheating husband. He’s just a normal guy, albeit a rich one. And they’d had a good time together. The sex had been amazing. He doesn’t really deserve to get robbed.

Then again, it’s a lot of money. Money Arthur clearly doesn’t need, and Merlin does.

Merlin stifles the guilty voice inside of him and takes the money out. He’s still holding the wallet in one hand and the cash in the other when he becomes aware of someone watching him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Arthur’s gotten up and out of his bed, looking impressively imposing for a man clad only in his boxers. His voice, so arousingly domineering last night, is now full of cold disdain.

Merlin takes a deep breath.

“Nothing,” he says, and he slips the money back into the wallet and drops it on the ground.

“Is this a joke?” Arthur says, in that same icy voice. “Is that why you went home with me? So you could rob me?”

Merlin thinks he sees a flicker of hurt in Arthur’s eyes, but he can’t waste time feeling guilty now. He has to figure out if Arthur’s the type to take a shot at him or worse.

“I put it back,” Merlin says steadily. “Okay? No harm, no foul. I’m just gonna go, alright?”

Arthur looks contemplative for a moment, then he walks over and locks the bedroom door.

Merlin instantly tenses, eyes narrowing as he assesses the situation. Arthur’s clearly physically stronger than him. Bare chested as he currently is, Merlin can see the definition in his arms and torso, the swell of his muscles.

But then again, strength isn’t all it takes to win a fight. There’s a good chance Arthur hasn’t done much fighting before; and if he has, there’s a difference between a tussle with his rugby mates at the yacht club, and a full on street brawl. Merlin is more than prepared to fight dirty, and if he can take him by surprise…

Arthur sees him clenching his fists.

“You gonna fight me, Merlin?” he says, sounding vaguely incredulous.

“If I have to,” Merlin says cagily.

“Why would you have to?”

“I assume you didn’t lock the door to have a friendly chat,” Merlin snaps.

“I locked the door to keep you here till the police come,” Arthur says.

It’s Merlin’s turn to be incredulous.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he bursts out. “You don’t have to get the police involved. Jesus, just take a swing at me and be a man about it.”

“That’s what men do, is it?” Arthur says, not moving from his position by the door. “Sounds like you know some shitty men.”

Merlin smiles at that before he can stop himself.

“You have no idea.”

Arthur scrutinises him for a moment. Then he looks at the phone on his bedside table.

“No, come on mate, don’t call the police,” Merlin says, getting a little desperate now. If he gets a record he’ll lose his job, Mr Jarvis made that clear the day he hired him. 

He puts his hands up in supplication.

“You can have as many hits as you like, I won’t even fight back. Then we can call it even.”

“I don’t know if you’ve just time travelled in from the Wild West,” Arthur sneers, “but here in 2014 England, we tend to settle disputes with the law, as opposed to fist fights.”

Merlin struggles to keep his temper.

“I’d owe you one,” he says.

“What could I possibly want from you?”

It’s a point. Merlin’s got no money, and it doesn’t seem like Arthur needs it anyway. If Arthur had a car, he could give it a tune up maybe… Then the obvious answer comes to him.

“I can think of something,” he says silkily, walking over to Arthur and crowding him against the door.

Arthur looks a bit taken aback and opens his mouth to speak, but Merlin shushes him. 

“Let’s make a deal. You don’t call the police, and I’ll show you my appreciation. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

Arthur doesn’t look convinced. He’s probably good looking enough that he’s not hard up for regular sex. Merlin decides to go for the hard sell.

“I mean anything. You wanna choke me, slap me, piss on me, whatever. I’m all yours.”

A look of horror passes over Arthur’s face, and his voice is unsteady when he speaks.

“Why the fuck would I want to do any of that?”

Merlin shrugs coyly.

“I don’t know what you’re into. I’m just saying, if you’ve got any deep dark kinks locked away, now’s the time to speak up. You can’t shock me, whatever it is,” he adds reassuringly.

Arthur shakes his head from side to side, like his ears are full of water.

“Just to be clear, you’re basically offering to prostitute yourself to me so that I won’t call the police?”

Prostitute is a harsh word but it doesn’t make Merlin flinch. He looks up at Arthur from under his lashes, and gives him a smile.

“If you like.”

“No. Jesus, no.”

Arthur steps back, as far away from Merlin as he can get, and fumbles to unlock the door.

“Just get out,” he says, walking over to stand by the bed.

Merlin is confused.

“Are you gonna call the police after I’m gone?”

“No, I’m not gonna… can you just go, please?”

Merlin’s aware he shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth, he should already be out of there; but something makes him hesitate. Something about the way Arthur’s standing, arms wrapped around himself defensively, a slight flush on his cheeks. He looks… upset.

“What’s wrong with you?” Merlin says bluntly.

“What’s wrong with me?” Arthur says. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Why would you even offer that?”

“I can’t afford to get arrested,” Merlin says, nonplussed.

“Yeah, but to offer to…” Arthur suddenly looks angry. “And what kind of guy do you think I am, that I might say yes to that?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Merlin tries to say and Arthur cuts him off.

“It is a fucking big deal! It’s… it’s not right.”

“It’s worked before,” Merlin mutters, stung by Arthur’s moral indignation. He doesn’t need this holier-than-thou crap from anyone; least of all someone naïve enough to be stunned by the idea that sex can be used as a bargaining chip.

“It’s worked before?” Arthur looks almost comically shocked now, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “Who would say yes to that?”

Merlin suddenly wants to scream at Arthur that most men – hell, most people – are out for what they can get at the end of the day, and you don’t always get a fair deal. Maybe Arthur can buy his way out of every sticky situation he finds himself in, but people like Merlin have to make use of the tools at their disposal.

But he doubts he could explain all that to Arthur, so all he says is “you’d be surprised,” and turns to the door. It’s time to go.

“It’s not right,” Arthur repeats.

“Yeah, you said that already,” Merlin says. “I’m gonna go, if we’re done here…”

Arthur doesn’t say anything more, just fixes Merlin with a look, so Merlin takes his leave.

He bolts down the stairs quickly and sets off walking at a brisk pace, half-expecting to hear a voice calling behind him, or sirens in the distance, but there’s nothing.

He should be relieved but for some reason he can’t get the way Arthur was looking at him out of his head. 

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

He doesn’t see Arthur again for nearly two months. He doesn’t return to Avalon for a few weekends, just in case, but then he gives up on hiding away. Arthur can hardly report him after all this time and anyway, as Will points out, if he starts worrying about bumping into men he’s slept with, he’ll never leave the house again.

Will’s a sarcastic bastard, but he has a point. 

So Merlin drops his guard. And the night when he eventually does run into Arthur, he’s not in Avalon, but a rough pub called O’Connor’s on the south side of town. He’s had a bad day at work and he’s not exactly on form; he ends up drinking too much and propositioning an incredibly heterosexual and incredibly irate man. He says something insulting, the man punches him in the face, and the landlord chucks him out onto the pavement.

Once he’s down on the ground he can’t actually get up again and for some reason this strikes him as very funny. He laughs to himself, feeling the blood from his split lip trickle down his chin, and leans back against the brick wall behind him. Probably as good a place to sleep as any. He’ll just have a little nap until he feels better…

His eyes are just fluttering shut when he hears a voice above him. 

“Merlin?”

He opens his eyes and waits for the figure above him to come into focus.

“Prince Arthur!” he slurs out happily. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“Yeah, fancy that,” Arthur says flatly, crouching down so he’s on Merlin’s level. “Jesus, you look a mess.”

“Might have had one too many,” Merlin says, winking conspiratorially.

“And the busted lip?” Arthur asks.

“Ugh, some guy got all mad when I hit on him. So I said he was an uptight closet case if ever I saw one.” Merlin grins toothily. “He didn’t like that.”

“You don’t say,” Arthur replies. “I think I better call you a cab.”

“You think I’ve got money for a cab, Richie Rich?” Merlin says, eyes closing again. “‘m just gonna kip here for a bit…”

There’s a few moments silence, then a long drawn out sigh.

“Give me strength,” he hears Arthur mutter and then there’s hands under his armpits, tugging him to his feet.

The movement makes him dizzy and he sways into Arthur, who steadies him with an arm.

“What’re you doin’?” he mumbles.

“You’re getting a cab with me,” Arthur says.

“Oh, changed your mind about my offer, have you?” Merlin leers and Arthur’s face shutters off.

“A cab to drop you off at your place,” he says.

Merlin shrugs. He looks behind Arthur and sees a couple of guys stood a little distance off, presumably his mates. One is the good looking bloke he’d been chasing in the club before; the other is tall and tanned, with dark hair and dark eyes.

“Your mates are fit,” Merlin says, hiccupping slightly.

“I’ll be sure to tell them,” Arthur says. “Come on.”

He begins walking Merlin down the street and the two lads catch up with them. 

“Sorry guys, I’m gonna have to call it a night. Gotta get Merlin here home.”

“Merlin?” the one he knows says. “Merlin who tried to steal your money?”

“I gave it back,” Merlin says sulkily. He attempts to focus his vision on the guy.

“Your hair is great. I bet you have to use a lot of shampoo on it,” he says eventually.

The bloke laughs loudly.

“I think you’re a little worse for wear, mate,” he says, Irish accent coming through strongly.

“Yeah, no shit Gwaine,” Arthur rejoinders. “Look, you guys just go on, I’ll give you a text tomorrow, okay?”

They nod.

“I hope you feel better Merlin,” the tanned one says kindly as they walk away.

Merlin gives him a half-wave but even that movement is enough to send him stumbling off balance. Arthur sighs and grips onto him more tightly.

They make slow progress to the taxi rank, and when Arthur finally gets him inside one, he immediately slumps against the window.

Arthur climbs in beside him.

“Where to, mate?” the driver says.

Arthur nudges him.

“What’s your address?”

Merlin thinks for a moment.

“I can’t remember,” he says, and bursts out laughing.

It’s just like outside the pub, only he can’t stop this time and the driver peers round nervously.

“Look, mate, if he’s gonna be sick in my cab…”

“He’s not,” Arthur snaps. “Just… just take us to Maulden Terrace.”

Merlin laughs all the way to Arthur’s flat and he only stops when Arthur helps him out of the cab and the cold air hits him like a slap in the face.

“Think I’m gonna…”

Then he throws up in a hedge.

“At least you didn’t do it in the cab,” Arthur says drily as Merlin wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

He bundles Merlin up the stairs to his flat and sends him straight into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When Merlin’s finished, he stumbles back into the living room, where Arthur forces him to drink a large glass of water. Then he gets a damp cloth and wipes the dried blood off Merlin’s face.

Maybe it’s the water, or the throwing up, but Merlin’s starting to sober up a bit. Enough to ask:

“Why are you doing this?”

“You’d rather I left you there on the street?” Arthur says flippantly.

“Last time I was here I tried to rob you,” Merlin points out.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got the only key to the front door and you’re not leaving tomorrow until I’ve checked you’re not taking anything extra with you.”

“Leaving tomorrow? Are you letting me spend the night?”

Arthur scoffs in that uppity way of his.

“I’m hardly going to send you back out there now.”

Fair enough. For a moment Merlin was confused as to why Arthur was being so nice but it figures that he’s up for round two. Merlin doesn’t mind. It’s not like Arthur’s unattractive and he guesses he does owe him for the cab fare.

He leans into Arthur’s space.

“You wanna do it here, or in the bedroom?” he says.

“The only thing anyone will be doing tonight is sleeping,” Arthur says. “In separate beds, I might add.”

Now Merlin really is confused.

“Why did you bring me back with you if you didn’t wanna fuck me?” he says, puzzled.

Arthur sighs for the third time that night, but this one sounds sadder than the other two.

“It’s called being a decent human being, Merlin,” he says evenly. “You don’t seem to know too many of those.”

Merlin opens his mouth to protest but yawns instead, a wave of fatigue overtaking him.

“Bed,” Arthur says and helps Merlin to his feet, walking him over to the spare room.

“I’m putting water and paracetamol here,” he says, placing the glass and pill packet on the bedside table. “God knows you’ll need them in the morning.”

Merlin is already kicking off his shoes and shedding his jeans. He tries to peel his t-shirt off and gets stuck somehow.

Arthur makes a funny strangled noise behind him and then pulls it off for him. Merlin promptly topples down onto the bed, face buried in the pillow. He’d have fallen asleep there and then but Arthur comes over and makes him get under the covers, tucking them around him. Merlin’s already half gone by the time he closes his eyes but he thinks he hears a quiet “Night Merlin,” from across the room before he drifts off.

 

He wakes with a start and immediately groans as a sharp pain scissors through his head. The clock on the wall reads half past ten, and it takes him a moment to realise that his own room has no clock before he thinks where the hell am I?

He sits up, takes a look at his surroundings and then it all comes flooding back to him. The pub and that angry man. Seeing Arthur and his friends. Throwing up in a- oh God, he threw up in a hedge. Arthur’s hedge, to be exact. Oh God.

Arthur. 

Well he’s gonna have to face the music at some point. Merlin slips out of bed and pulls his clothes on, before downing a couple of paracetamol. He puts an ear to the door, praying to all the saints in heaven that Arthur’s still asleep, or in the shower, or anywhere that means he won’t spot Merlin creeping out the door.

No such luck. The minute he steps into the kitchen he sees that irksome halo of blonde hair, bent over a spread out newspaper.

“Um, hey,” Merlin says, and winces at the roughness of his voice.

Arthur smiles, looking irritatingly hearty and hangover-free.

“Morning. There’s coffee in the pot if you want some?”

No, Merlin does not want some. He wants to flee out of the door and never come back, till this whole hideous affair is nothing but a distant memory. But Arthur’s already standing up and pouring some out. And it smells amazing.

One cup. Then he’s out of here. 

Arthur adds milk and sugar as per Merlin’s request and then sits back down. An awkward silence descends as Merlin sips at his coffee. It tastes even better than it smells and for some reason that irritates the hell out of Merlin. It’s probably some fancy organic brand, the likes of which he and Will don’t even dare look at as they scan the shelves for whatever shitty Nescafe knock-off is on offer that week. Arthur probably never had to skimp on anything in his life.

A two bedroom flat, all to himself. And it’s twice the size of Will and Merlin’s.

Merlin’s fingers tighten around the coffee cup.

“I should thank you for last night,” he says abruptly.

“No problem,” Arthur says, eyes on his paper.

“You’ll notice I didn’t actually thank you,” Merlin says sharply.

Arthur looks up at that. 

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know if you’re doing some sort of charity project, reaching out to degenerates in the area or whatever, but I didn’t actually need your help.”

“Make a habit of sleeping on the pavement, do you?” Arthur says, sounding annoyed.

“Sometimes,” Merlin replies coolly. “I’m just saying, if you’re waiting for me to fall down on bended knee and praise you, it’ll be a long wait.”

“Well I’m not,” Arthur snaps. “A simple thank you would have sufficed.”

“Wouldn’t wanna feed your hero complex, mate,” Merlin sneers. “Between you and me, inviting round a guy who tried to rob you last time he was here is just plain stupid.”

“Jesus,” Arthur hisses. “I don’t have a hero complex, and if I did I’d certainly have no interest in saving you. Even though you so clearly need it.”

“You what?” Merlin says, riled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the first time I met you, you tried to steal my money and then offered to whore yourself out to me so I wouldn’t call the police. Then the second time I see you, you’re lying bleeding in the gutter, getting ready to fall asleep and choke on your own vomit! You don’t exactly come across as a guy with his life together.”

“Fuck you,” Merlin spits, incensed. “I’m sure it’s so easy to look down on us mere mortals from your ivory tower – or more accurately, your fancy flat that mummy and daddy paid for.”

That clearly hits a nerve because Arthur flushes.

“I wasn’t looking down on you last night, I was only trying to lend a hand! Which was clearly a huge fucking MISTAKE!” 

“Yeah it was!” Merlin yells back and bangs his coffee cup down on the table. The liquid flies out in a perfect arc and ends up splatting down onto the open newspaper, on what happens to be a picture of an irate looking Donald Trump.

Merlin can’t say for sure why it’s funny, all he knows is that it is, and he can only hold in the laugh for a split second before it escapes. But to his great surprise, Arthur’s lip is twitching as well, and it’s not long before they’re both giggling like schoolgirls.

“Sorry,” Arthur eventually chokes out. “It was just all tense and dramatic, and then you slammed your cup down and gave Donald a facial.”

“He looks better now anyway,” Merlin muses.

Their eyes meet and they both grin guiltily.

Merlin clears his throat.

“Erm, sorry about… I, er, do that sometimes. Try to pick a fight. I don’t know why.”

“It’s fine.” Arthur shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Sorry I said you didn’t have your life together.”

Merlin shrugs because it’s so obviously true that he can barely be offended. He sits down at the table instead.

“Uh… any chance I can have some more coffee? It’s actually really good.”

Arthur smiles and picks up the cup.

“As long as you promise not to throw this one on me.”

He brings a fresh cup over and folds the paper away.

“My dad did buy me this flat,” he says after a while. “But I don’t… it’s not…”

Merlin holds up his hand.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I reckon I forfeited the moral high ground when I threw up in your hedge.”

“Remember that, do you?” Arthur says, grinning. “Do you also remember telling my friend Gwaine how great his hair was?”

“Oh shit, the Irish guy. Oh my God.”

Merlin puts his head in his hands.

“Don’t worry, he found it hilarious.”

“I can usually hold my drink, I swear,” Merlin groans.

“I know,” Arthur says unexpectedly. “I’ve seen you out before.”

“What, you mean before we properly met?”

Arthur blushes slightly.

“Yeah, I mean, I saw you in a couple of clubs before then.”

“How come you remembered me?”

Arthur’s blush deepens.

“You’re quite, uh, distinctive.”

Merlin decides to take that as a compliment.

“So you go to uni here?” he asks.

“No, I graduated last year. I work at my father’s company now.”

“What kind of company?”

“It’s a consultancy firm.”

“I’m not sure I know what that is but it sounds boring,” Merlin says bluntly, and Arthur laughs.

“It is. I only joined up because I spent four years studying Philosophy at Cambridge and then left uni with absolutely no idea what to do with it.”

He smiles ruefully.

“What about you? You still at uni?”

“Oh no, I graduated Oxford with a double first when I was nineteen,” Merlin says glibly.

“Wow, really?” Arthur says and Merlin’s shocked to realise he’s being sincere.

“Er, no, I was just joking,” he says awkwardly. “I never went to uni.”

“Oh right,” Arthur says. “So you work, or-”

“Yeah I, uh, work at a garage.”

Merlin’s never been embarrassed about where he works before, or the fact he didn’t attend university. But now he feels a flicker of shame, sat in front of this perfectly turned out man who went straight from Cambridge to a consultancy job, and reads the goddamn Guardian on a Saturday morning.

Arthur nods and Merlin wonders what’s going through his mind.

“I left school at seventeen,” he says brusquely, perversely wanting to lay it all on the table, let Arthur see how inferior he is. “I live with a mate in Wexley.”

Wexley is the rough side of town, everybody knows that. But Arthur merely chuckles.

“So you do remember where you live. I was a bit worried after last night.”

Merlin regroups.

“Well I didn’t know if the taxi driver would go there. Some won’t, that time of night.”

Arthur smiles blandly.

“Because it’s such a shithole,” Merlin persists.

Arthur puts down his coffee and runs his finger round the rim of the cup before speaking.

“I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking right now, but no, I don’t give a fuck that you didn’t go to uni, or that you work in a garage, or that you live in Wexley.”

Merlin gapes slightly.

“That’s not what I was thinking,” he says weakly and Arthur gives him a half-grin.

“Not all my friends are millionaires, you know?”

“Who says we’re friends?” Merlin shoots back.

“I do,” Arthur says, and he gets up to put on some toast.

 

Merlin has every intention of leaving there and then, but the offer of toast proves too tempting. Unless Will’s been to the shop (unlikely, this early on a Saturday), there’s nothing in their flat but beer and Quavers; whereas Arthur has fresh white bread and that fancy Bonne Maman jam that Gaius used to get. So Merlin stays for breakfast.

But he gets up to leave straight after that and he even makes it to the front door before something in the living room catches his eye.

“Is that a Nintendo 64?” he says, stopping in his tracks. 

“I have a PlayStation 4 and an Xbox One sat right there, and all you notice is the N64?” Arthur mocks, but he’s grinning. Merlin bets the Nintendo is his favourite too.

“You got Super Mario?”

“Obviously.”

“Come on, then.”

Four hours later, Merlin’s still there. They’ve switched from Mario to Halo, then on to Call of Duty. Merlin holds his own with Mario, he remembers playing it at a school friend’s when he was about eight, but he’s hopeless at the more modern games. Arthur finds the fact that Merlin keeps accidentally killing himself hilarious, until they play Tekken and Merlin kicks his arse.

“You can’t just press the same button over and over, that’s cheating!” Arthur howls as Merlin elbow smashes him into oblivion. 

“Don’t be a sore loser, Artie,” Merlin says, gracefully executing the exact same victory dance as his character onscreen is doing.

Arthur snorts with laughter.

“Sweet moves. And Artie’s a new one.”

“Felt like giving you a nickname.”

Arthur hits pause and grins mischievously.

“I liked the other one better.”

“What other one?”

“Prince Arthur.”

Merlin is confused for a second, then he remembers greeting Arthur last night and feels his face heat up.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters. “When I first saw you in Avalon I thought you looked a bit like a Disney prince, and then you said your name was Arthur and I just thought…”

He trails off and pretends to be intently focussed on the frozen TV screen.

“You thought I looked like a Disney prince?”

“It’s not even a compliment, dude,” Merlin says disgruntledly. “Just means you look like a brain dead pretty boy.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“For fuck’s sake!”

Arthur laughs, un-pausing the game and letting him off the hook.

It’s nearly five o’ clock when Merlin’s phone beeps with a text from Will, asking where he is.

“I better go,” he says, vaguely regretful even though he’s stayed far too long already.

“Okay,” Arthur nods. “Hey, can I see that for a second?”

He lifts the phone out of Merlin’s hand and taps rapidly away at the keypad before handing it back.

“What was that?” 

“My number,” Arthur says, and flashes him a smile.

There’s a pause.

“Look, Arthur, I had a nice time today and all, but I’m really not looking for-”

“What, are you saying you don’t want to be my boyfriend?” Arthur interrupts. “But I already told my whole family. I even changed my relationship status on Facebook.”

His face is very serious and Merlin experiences a split-second of panic before Arthur creases up in laughter.

“Jesus, Merlin, your face! I’m not asking you to elope, I’m just saying if you ever feel like drinking coffee, or throwing it over more American entrepreneurs, that’s a thing we could do together.”

Merlin relaxes.

“I’d have to be pretty hard up for options to hang out with you,” he says sweetly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You need someone like me in your life, Merlin.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” Arthur’s eyebrows dance wickedly for a second. “You’ll see.”

It’s not until he’s halfway home that Merlin realises Arthur’s saved his number under Prince Arthur. Against his better judgement, he smiles.

 

However, that doesn’t mean he has any intention of texting him. Sure, the sex had been incredible on their first meeting, and the company surprisingly decent on the second, but it’s not enough to build a friendship on. If he even wanted another friend, which he doesn’t. He’s got Will, which feels like more than enough at times, and he sometimes goes for a pint with the blokes at work. But truth be told, the kind of socialising he prefers to do involves a bit less small talk and a bit more physical contact than the average pint down the pub. Friends are not what he goes out looking for on Saturday nights.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Arthur. The opposite is true, if he’s being honest with himself. But they’re not exactly a match made in heaven. Arthur’s rich, he’s poor; Arthur’s smart, he’s thick, Arthur’s sorted and he’s a screw up. There could never be anything more than sex between them.

And yet. One day a bloke comes through the garage with a haircut almost as bad as Donald Trump’s and before he’s really thought it through, Merlin fires off a text about it to Arthur.

Two minutes later, he sends another one:

_This is Merlin, by the way._

The reply is almost instantaneous.

_Obviously. I don’t know anyone else with such an unhealthy Donald Trump obsession. You should seek help._

Merlin’s response is succinct and to the point.

_Prat._

They text back and forth for the rest of that day and Merlin finds he gets a little fizz of excitement in his stomach every time his phone vibrates in his pocket.

The fizz increases when Arthur texts: _So how about a pint then?_

Well. Why not? It’s Tuesday, and it’s not as if he had any other plans beyond watching crap TV with Will back at the flat.

He texts back suggesting a pub in town (one he’s pretty sure he hasn’t previously disgraced himself in) and then goes home to shower. Simply to wash the oil and grease off, he tells himself, not because he’s trying to look good for Arthur.

Will looks unimpressed when he says he’s going out to meet a bloke.

“Thought you kept that kind of thing to weekends, mate?” 

“I’m not off to just to meet any bloke I can. I’m meeting a specific one. Friend of mine.”

Will’s face screws up with the kind of suspicion that would be insulting if Merlin wasn’t aware he’s probably never mentioned a friend in the entire time Will’s known him.

“Who’s this friend?”

“Arthur.”

Will snorts.

“Are people really called Arthur anymore?”

“Yeah, as a bloke called Merlin, I really can’t complain.”

“True,” Will sniggers. “Well, have fun. Try not to bang him.”

“Too late,” Merlin calls as he heads out the door.

 

He’s ten minutes early to the pub and it makes him feel antsy. He buys two pints and retreats to sit in a dark corner, eyes on the door. It suddenly feels like a mistake, coming here. The last two times Arthur’s seen him have revealed far more about himself than he’s really comfortable with. And what will they even have to talk about? There’s nothing of interest going on his life. He can hardly imagine Arthur patiently nodding away while he talks him through the intricacies of fan belts and oil changes. 

He’s no good at this bit. He’s only good for the sex, not everything that comes after. It won’t work. 

He puts his pint down and gets up. Time to cut and run. But then he sees a shock of blonde hair at the door and he sits back down with a thump. Too late.

It looks like Arthur’s come straight from work because he’s wearing a suit. It’s charcoal grey and cut close to his body and Merlin knows as much about suits as he does about quantum physics, but he does know that Arthur looks very good indeed.

What he also looks is slick and professional, and it makes Merlin painfully aware of his own messy hair and cheap blue t-shirt. He contemplates sliding down under the table and just waiting for Arthur to go, but he’s already been spotted and Arthur’s making his way over.

He’s grinning widely and Merlin’s a little surprised to see Arthur looks genuinely pleased to see him. It makes him feel strange, somehow.

“Trust you to pick the deepest, darkest corner to skulk in Merlin.”

“Yeah, well, I’m actually part vampire,” Merlin deadpans automatically. “But only part, so I still love garlic bread.”

Arthur makes a face.

“I hate garlic bread,” he grimaces.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re an idiot. Garlic bread is a gift from God.”

“No, stuffed crust pizza is a gift from God,” Arthur corrects. “Garlic bread is an abomination.”

“You’re so wrong it’s actually embarrassing,” Merlin says. 

Arthur sits down on the stool opposite him.

“I’m never wrong, Merlin. It’s one of the most amazing things about me.”

Suddenly Arthur notices the pint in front of him.

“Is that for me?”

“No, it’s for Dolly Parton; she should be here any minute.”

Arthur smirks.

“Dolly Parton? Bit of an obvious gay reference, don’t you think?”

Merlin lets his eyes go wide.

“I’m not gay, where did you get that idea?”

“I dunno,” Arthur says casually. “Maybe when my dick was stuck up your-”

“Arthur!” Merlin hisses, because the two old soaks at the next table definitely heard that and they look mortally offended.

Arthur grins.

“I knew your whole too-cool-for-school, ‘can’t embarrass me’ shtick was just an act.”

“Since when have I been too cool for school?” Merlin asks, trying to nod reassuringly at the men next to him; who simply shake their heads in disgust and return to their pints.

“I told you I’d seen you before Avalon. Leaning up against the bar, taking everyone in. Picking up men like you’re doing them a favour.”

Arthur’s tone is flirty, his eyes are flashing, and Merlin decides that two can play at that game.

“I am doing them a favour,” he says, lowering his voice to a more seductive tone. “Not everyone gets a chance with me, you know.”

Arthur leans forward.

“So you’re saying I should feel lucky?”

“That’s right,” Merlin says.

Arthur shrugs.

“I’ve had better.”

“No you haven’t,” Merlin says and there’s this little smile tugging at the corner of Arthur’s mouth that tells Merlin he’s right.

“Anyway I hope you enjoyed it,” he says, standing up and draining his pint. “‘Cause I don’t do repeat performances.”

As he walks away to the bar, he’s pretty sure he’s hears Arthur mutter “we’ll see” in his wake.

 

The rest of the evening passes surprisingly fast. They discuss their favourite foods and bicker about their music tastes (Arthur likes Coldplay, which is a mortal sin in Merlin’s book) and their favourite films (Merlin’s love for The Lost Boys goes completely unappreciated by Arthur, who claims Interview With The Vampire is a far superior bloodsucker flick). Merlin asks Arthur a little about his job, and ends up more confused than when he started. Then Arthur asks about his and he starts talking about horsepower and batteries and Arthur looks completely nonplussed.

“You don’t drive, do you?” he says, and Arthur holds his hands up.

“Guilty. It infuriates my father; he’s always offering me use of a company car but…” 

Arthur trails off, clearly clocking the obvious glee on Merlin’s face. 

“Of course he did,” Merlin says straight faced. “Did he offer you the Bentley or did he want you to slum it in a Porsche?”

“Yes, alright, I’m rich, I get it,” Arthur sighs. “Anyway, stop taking the piss because I have no intention of learning to drive so it’ll never happen.”

“Why not?” Merlin asks. 

He never had the money to take proper lessons but Will taught him; first by taking him round the garage lot on slow days, then later driving him out to the country to let him have a go in the open fields. Will has a car of his own, a worn down little Kia that he bought off Mr Jarvis for a knock down price, and Merlin drives it occasionally. He doesn’t know why, but he really likes driving. He sometimes indulges a private fantasy, one that he knows will never come true, of road tripping across America in some classic car he did up himself – a Mustang or a Chevrolet. Stopping where he likes, visiting all the small towns, seeing the big wide open spaces that just don’t exist the same way in England. 

It’s only a fantasy.

“I… I don’t really trust myself behind a wheel,” Arthur is saying when he refocuses. “And, uh, promise you won’t laugh?”

“Okay.”

“I sometimes have a bit of trouble telling my left from my right,” Arthur admits.

Merlin laughs right away and Arthur’s face creases in mock-hurt.

“You promised!”

“I know, but that is ridiculous.”

Merlin holds his hands up in front of him.

“Did no-one ever tell you that you can make the letter L with your left hand, as in L for left?”

“Yes, obviously I know that, but none of these little tricks are that helpful when you’re going forty miles an hour and you don’t know which way the right turn is,” Arthur says peevishly.

“Poor Artie,” Merlin sing-songs.

“Exactly, poor me. You know when I did my cycling proficiency at school; I had to write L and R on my hands in marker so I wouldn’t cock it up.”

Merlin laughs again.

“Heart-breaking. Tell you what, come round the garage one day and I’ll show you the driving basics, make you feel better.”

Why did he say that? It sounds uncomfortably like an invitation for future meetings. And worst of all, Arthur’s nodding eagerly, and it sends a spasm of guilt running through him. He can’t see Arthur again, he really can’t.

Merlin holds firm to that resolution as Arthur walks him to the bus stop, and when they finally arrive, he turns to tell Arthur politely but firmly that he doesn’t want to see him again.

He opens his mouth and Arthur kisses him.

It’s not like the fevered kiss in the club, or any that followed; this one is sweet and tender, Arthur’s hand cupping the back of his head as they melt into each other.

Merlin blames the post-kiss haze for the fact that Arthur invites him to the cinema on Thursday and he accepts without question.

It sets the tone for the next few months. It’s like Merlin’s been subtly hoodwinked into dating Arthur; he seems to blink one day and they’re an item. Arthur’s just always there, with some new idea of what they can do together – and they never sound like dates but they invariably end with gentle kisses and then mind blowing sex at Arthur’s flat.

Or worse, in Merlin’s opinion, sometimes there’s no sex at all. Sometimes they enjoy each other’s company so much they don’t even need to sleep together.

“I’m not in a relationship, am I?” Merlin rants to Will one day, after nearly five months of this nonsense.

“Not bothering to have sex? Sounds like a relationship to me,” Will sniggers. 

“It’s not funny! I’ve been tricked into this. I’ve been trying to get rid of this guy since day one but he just keeps turning up.”

“Oh please. Someone call an Egyptologist, because you are in denial.”

“Wow, seriously shit banter Will. I don’t think that even qualifies as a joke.”

“You’re a joke. Just admit you like him.”

“You don’t even like him!” Merlin points out triumphantly.

Arthur and Will’s introduction had not gone well. Arthur had made some offhand comment which Will had decided to take massive offense to, and before long they were bickering like children while Merlin looked between them like a tennis umpire.

“No, I bloody don’t. Posh twat. But I’m not the one dating him. And you definitely do like him.”

“I do not-”

“Denial! Mate, you have to face facts. You’ve basically fucked every guy in a fifty mile radius, it was inevitable you were gonna fall for one eventually.”

“I have not fucked that many guys,” Merlin says sulkily.

“Yeah right! If one night stands were an Olympic sport, you’d be Usain Bolt.”

“Seriously Will, where are these terrible jokes coming from?”

“I tell you what will be a joke: if you lose this guy because you’re too dopey to realise you’ve got a good thing going.”

Will wags his finger menacingly and Merlin rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m giving it a shot, aren’t I? As long it’s not a relationship.”

But it patently is. Merlin’s met all of Arthur’s mates, on several occasions now. Lance and Gwaine are good enough not to mention the first time he met them when he was completely off his face, and he’s grateful for that. He sometimes wonders if Gwaine remembers that Merlin was giving him the come-on that night at Avalon, but if he does Gwaine’s keeping it under his hat, and that’s another reason to like him. He also gets to know Percy, who’s the very definition of a gentle giant, and is quite the car enthusiast, seemingly genuinely interested in Merlin’s work at the garage.

He’s even met Arthur’s sister Morgana, and he senses that’s further than most of Arthur’s dates get because Morgana’s not exactly an unintimidating proposition. She spends half of her first meeting with Merlin sitting in icy silence; until he makes some joke about Arthur being a daddy’s boy and she beams at him, afterwards proceeding to chat away like they were old friends. 

At some point, probably somewhere in between attending Arthur’s third office party, and filling a drawer in Arthur’s dresser with his spare clothes, Merlin concedes that he might be in a relationship.

It’s not as bad as he might have thought. He’s been satisfied with his own company before, but being with Arthur is just that little bit more fun. He laughs harder than he’s probably ever laughed, they spend an insane amount of time together without ever getting bored, and the sex continues to be incredible.

It’s not all roses. Arthur’s quite a talky person; Merlin can see why he was attracted to Philosophy as a degree. He likes to puzzle things out, chat around them, and while Merlin doesn’t mind grappling with abstract ideas, he’s less keen when Arthur wants him to be the topic of conversation. Arthur, unlike most men Merlin’s known, isn’t averse to talking about feelings. It’s just that Merlin is. 

He doesn’t mind talking about Arthur’s feelings, not at all. Arthur doesn’t get personal very often; normally it’s more just what he thinks about society and humanity but one night he tells Merlin that his mum died in childbirth.

He’s calm when he says it but Merlin can feel the pain coming off him in waves. They talk about it for a while, and Arthur seems to relax the more he says. Merlin can see that it makes Arthur feel better to discuss things with the people he’s close to.

It’s the perfect opportunity to say his own mum is dead, but somehow he can’t. He doesn’t want to discuss it. It’s just not his way.

It comes up eventually. One day Arthur’s in the middle of some rant about his father, Merlin making all the appropriate sympathetic noises, when he suddenly stops.

“Sorry. I know I’m always going on about him. It’s just… well, you know what parents are like.”

Merlin nods and Arthur suddenly looks thoughtful.

“You never talk about your parents. I don’t even know what they do.”

“I never really knew my dad,” Merlin says carefully. “And my mum’s dead.”

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” Arthur says sincerely. “When did she die?”

“When I was six,” Merlin says and Arthur winces.

“Who did you live with after that?”

“My great uncle,” Merlin says briefly. He goes over to the dishwasher and starts to stack the plates; hoping against hope Arthur won’t ask any more questions.

But Arthur persists.

“Where does he live?”

“He actually died too,” Merlin says.

“When was that?” Arthur asks.

“When I was ten,” Merlin says, rearranging the cutlery in the holder so that the knives, forks and spoons are all in separate partitions.

“That’s awful, I’m sorry,” Arthur says quietly. “Where did you live then?”

“In a children’s home. Left when I was seventeen to move in with Will.”

There’s no way Merlin’s mentioning being fostered if he doesn’t have to. He’s finally run out of things to fiddle with in the dishwasher so he closes it and turns around. He doesn’t want to look at Arthur because he already knows what he’ll see in his face. He wonders if a lot of things about him are suddenly slotting into place for Arthur and he hates that thought.

“Yeah, it was a really good laugh actually,” he finds himself saying. “I always wanted loads of siblings, and it was like being in a big gang or something. We used to get up to all sorts.”

It sounds pathetic, even to his own ears, but thank God Arthur seems to have finally picked up on the mood in the room because he says:

“I always wished I was an only child. You would too if Morgana was your sister.”

“She’s not that bad,” Merlin says, gratefully seizing on the topic change.

They don’t talk about it again, though Merlin knows Arthur wants to. He keeps leaving little openings for Merlin to mention it, but Merlin ignores them all. 

He knows he can’t evade Arthur forever, and the thought worries him. There are a lot of aspects of being in a relationship he’s come to love; but the total honesty bit is difficult. And he really, really doesn’t want Arthur poking about in his past. Nothing would make the guy run faster. If Arthur knew… everything… Merlin’s sure he’d never look at him the same way again. He’d make his excuses and go. Merlin can’t risk that.

But he manages to keep a lid on these fears; until his hand is forced.

They’ve been together just over a year when Will decides he wants to move in with his on-again, off-again girlfriend Beatrice. She lives in a flat in a nicer part of town, and she wants Will to prove his commitment by coming to live with her.

Will assures Merlin he won’t move until Merlin finds a new place. Merlin puts on a good face for Will, because he’s grateful to Will for taking him in the first place; he owes him a lot and he doesn’t want to make Will feel guilty. But inside he’s panicking. Where will he go? What can he afford? What if the only available place is too far from the garage? What if…

He’s still in a bit of a state when he heads over to Arthur’s that night. Arthur cooks him dinner and listens to him voice his fears. Then he says:

“You can always move in here.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, genuinely dumbstruck.

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s only a big deal if we make it a big deal,” Arthur says warningly. “I’m not about to pop the question, it just seems like you spend most of your time here already, so why waste your money on some dingy room in a shared house when you could live here?”

Arthur has a point. And maybe he’s right. It’s only a big deal if they make it a big deal. It’s not some grand romantic thing; it’s just a pragmatic solution to a practical problem.

And if Arthur carries Merlin bridal style over the threshold on the day he moves in, he doesn’t see cause to complain about it.

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

For a few months, it seems like any fears were unjustified. It’s certainly fun to be able to wake up next to Arthur every day, without having to rush back to his flat for a change of clothes. He definitely enjoys the perks of having sex on tap; and he likes being there when Arthur comes home from work in the evenings. It feels homely, in the best sense of the word.

But then the cracks start to appear. He can’t avoid Arthur’s scrutiny when he’s with him all the time, and one day the past forces itself into their little domestic world.

It’s been a long shitty day and he’s got a headache and to top it all off Arthur’s in a bad mood too. And when Arthur’s pissed off, there’s no hiding from it; his rage and irritation just seem to expand and fill the space he’s in. Merlin hates it; it ties his stomach up in knots. Will complained all the time but he never really got angry. And if he did, Merlin could always retreat into his own room; but it’s all shared space here. Nowhere he can go that Arthur can’t follow. Some days he likes that, on days like today he wishes he’d never moved in. 

Arthur barely even acknowledges Merlin’s presence before he starts ranting about his father and his line manager and some bungled paperwork that he’s going to have to spend his whole weekend fixing. He drinks two beers in quick succession, wound tight like a spring, and he doesn’t seem to notice that Merlin’s not saying anything. 

Merlin doesn’t feel like drinking himself, but he grabs a bottle out of the fridge to hold against his aching head. He tries to tune Arthur out and hope he’ll just exhaust himself and calm down, but Arthur just goes on and on. Eventually he stops to look at Merlin properly, but instead of anything sympathetic he simply says:

“You might as well give me that beer if you’re not drinking it.”

His tone is snappish and Merlin opens his mouth to retort, then decides not to bother. He stands up to pass the beer over, but he lets go just a fraction too soon and the bottle slips through his fingers, shattering on the floor.

There’s a moment’s silence and then Arthur explodes.

“Jesus Christ, Merlin, can’t you be more careful?”

He swings his arm around, probably to emphasise his irritation, but all Merlin sees is a hand coming towards his face and he throws his arms in front of his head with a soft cry, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation of the blow.

It only takes him about three seconds to come to his senses and lower his arms but it may as well have been a lifetime from the way Arthur’s looking at him.

“Merlin,” Arthur says in an odd, stifled voice. “I wasn’t going to hit you.”

Merlin tries to laugh.

“Obviously. I just drank like six cups of coffee at work today so my reflexes are shot. Think I’m in a video game or something.”

“Your reflexes are shot,” Arthur repeats in that same odd tone.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, annoyance creeping into his voice. “Could you pass me the dustpan and brush?”

Arthur doesn’t move and Merlin huffs out an exasperated sigh and walks to the cupboard himself.

“Merlin, your feet-” Arthur starts to say, because he’s barefoot – and sure enough, he can feel little pricks of glass on the soles of his feet but he doesn’t care. He crouches down and starts sweeping the bottle shards up.

“You’ve done that before,” Arthur says above him.

“Done what?”

“Flinched away from me. Like I was going to hit you.”

“I don’t think so,” Merlin says testily, emptying the dustpan into the bin. Arthur would probably rather he wrapped the glass in newspaper first, but so what?

He grabs a few pieces of kitchen towel and starts soaking up the spilt beer.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Arthur says quietly, and his choice of words enrages Merlin. He’s not a fucking five year old who’s eaten the last cookie in the jar.

“Nope,” Merlin says and throws the kitchen towel away before stalking into the living room.

Arthur, of course, follows.

“Merlin…” he says, but Merlin doesn’t turn to look at him, because he swears to God if he sees pity in Arthur’s eyes, he’ll punch his stupid face in.

“Can we talk about this?” Arthur tries, and that’s the bloody limit as far as Merlin’s concerned.

“I’m off out,” he says, pushing his bare feet into his trainers and trying not to wince as the little glass shards push further into his skin.

“Please don’t go out,” Arthur says softly. “Please stay here and talk to me.”

“I’m going out,” Merlin says, and he turns and points a finger at Arthur. “Don’t fucking follow me.”

Then he’s gone. 

 

He ends up at O’Connor’s, like on the second time he saw Arthur. He gets as horrendously drunk as he did that night, only this time the landlord’s not there to throw him out. He gets so drunk his extremities go numb and the room starts lurching from side to side, his vision blurring. So drunk that he knows if someone approaches him right now and asks to take him home, he’s going to go with them. But the only man that speaks to Merlin all night is the freckle faced bartender; who gently tells him it’s closing time and asks if there’s anyone he can call to pick him up.

Merlin dials Arthur’s number on reflex and cradles the phone to his numb cheek, listening to it ring.

“Merlin? Is that you? God, I’m so sorry for shouting earlier. And then for going on at you.”

Arthur sounds frantic and a perverse part of Merlin is pleased. It feels like a long time since someone’s been anxious about him. 

“I’m at O’Connor’s,” he says, trying to enunciate. 

“Get in a cab, I’ll pay when you get here,” Arthur says instantly.

Merlin agrees and the freckly bartender calls him a taxi, and waits outside with him till it arrives.

“Your friend sounds nice,” he says.

“Boyfriend,” Merlin slurs, and the man smiles.

“Your boyfriend sounds nice,” he says.

“He is,” Merlin says, and suddenly wants to cry.

 

Arthur is waiting for him outside the flat and he shoves some money at the driver, not waiting for change before helping Merlin out of the cab.

Arthur wraps his arm around him and Merlin leans on him all the way up the stairs. When they get inside, Arthur bundles him into the living room and sits him down.

Merlin shivers slightly.

“You’re cold,” Arthur says, frowning, and wraps Merlin in the throw from the back of the couch before bringing him a big glass of water, just like the last time Merlin came back from O’Connor’s.

Merlin drinks half of it before the numbness begins to fade from his limbs and he feels a pain in his feet.

“My trainers,” he mumbles, reaching down to try and take them off but his fingers are clumsy and Arthur bats them away to ease off the shoes himself.

He gasps when he sees the soles of Merlin’s feet.

“Oh baby. Wait right here.”

Arthur leaves and returns in a few minutes with TCP, a bowl of warm water, some bandages and a pair of tweezers.

“I’m just going to get the pieces of glass out, okay? It might hurt a bit.”

It does, but Merlin’s still drunk enough not to feel it too much. Arthur works methodically, patiently, his hand steady. But Merlin can read his distress in the tight lines around his mouth, the furrow of his brow.

“‘m sorry,” he whispers and Arthur shushes him. He carries on until the last piece is out and then he washes the blood away, and dabs on the TCP before bandaging Merlin’s feet up. He kneels there and rests Merlin’s heels on the palm of his hands for a moment.

“No walking on these for a bit, okay? I’ll carry you round the flat, like you’re a sultan or something.”

Arthur’s smiling but his eyes look so pained. Merlin knows he won’t bring up any more serious conversations tonight, wouldn’t dare given how Merlin reacted earlier. But Merlin suddenly wants to bring it up himself. Because Arthur pushed all his buttons but he didn’t mean to, and now he’s just confused and upset and Merlin doesn’t want to leave him feeling that way. It’s not Arthur’s fault.

“About earlier…” he says haltingly and Arthur springs up to sit next to Merlin on the sofa, his eyes wide and fearful.

“You don’t have to say anything. I was being a total dick, I never should have shouted about the beer. And, after… I made you uncomfortable and I’m really sorry.”

Arthur obviously thinks he’s still angry. His hand is hovering near Merlin’s shoulders, like he’s afraid his touch isn’t welcome anymore.

Merlin leans back on the couch, into Arthur. He feels Arthur’s body relax, before his arm wraps around him, drawing him close.

They stay like that for a while, Merlin’s head resting on Arthur’s chest. Arthur’s fingers idly stroking through his hair.

There’s a proper way of doing this, Merlin thinks vaguely. A calm way of presenting the facts, of relating the story so as not to alarm or discomfort; to ease Arthur into it.

But he’s too drunk and hazy to be proper so he simply says:

“I had a foster father that used to hit me and sometimes I get reminded of him and it makes me go a bit funny.”

Arthur’s whole body goes rigid, like every muscle has tensed up at the same time, and Merlin thinks perhaps he should have been less blunt. 

But it’s out there now.

“I’m very sorry that happened,” Arthur says very softly. “And I’m very sorry to have reminded you of him.”

He sounds quietly devastated. 

“No, it wasn’t like… you didn’t, I swear. I know you would never hi- I know you would never act like him. I just can’t always control how I react to certain stuff.”

Merlin’s struggling to explain because he’s not sure he understands it all himself, but he wants to get that awful look off Arthur’s face, like Arthur hates himself.

“It’s not you,” he says desperately. “You’re nothing like him.”

Then, to prove it, he starts to talk. 

“I… I got fostered when I was thirteen. And at first it was okay. There were two other boys there, this guy called Evan and this kid Daniel. But Cenred, the foster father, he started to… I mean, not started, he’d already been on at Evan for months, but he-”

He stops because suddenly there’s not enough air, but then he feels Arthur’s hands reach out to take his own.

“Merlin, you don’t have to-”

But he wants to now, wants to get the whole story out so they can just get past it, put it all to bed tonight and never speak of it again.

He draws a shaky breath.

“He hit me. And Evan. And it got really bad and we didn’t know what to do, and then one day he beat up Daniel. Like, really beat him up, and that’s when we told my case worker.”

He knows it’s partly the drink he’s had but he feels it all come rushing back to him, like he’s immersed in it. That terrible dinner; the panic he felt when he was banging on the bedroom door; seeing Daniel cry afterwards…

He feels tears prick at his eyes and he ducks his head, ashamed, before he wills them away. 

Arthur’s hands are warm on his own.

“It was only a few months,” he says weakly. “It wasn’t that bad. And we all got out and he went to jail so it worked out in the end.”

He knows he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, and he hates it.

“It sounds bad,” Arthur says, gently massaging Merlin’s hand.

“This is not-” Merlin stops and tries again. “Please don’t start walking on egg shells around me. I’m not… damaged.”

“Hey, hey, I know you’re not. I would never think that,” Arthur says intently. “I’m not gonna treat you any different.”

“Good,” Merlin says. “It’s only a tiny little part of me.”

“I know,” Arthur says, and it sounds like he means it.

Merlin brings his hand up to stroke Arthur’s face. His jawline feels tight.

“You’re angry,” he says.

“Not at you,” Arthur says. “I hate that someone treated you like that.” 

It may be the alcohol still in his system but Merlin feels something warm in his chest at Arthur’s words. 

“I love you,” he says and Arthur looks surprised, because Merlin never says it spontaneously, only ever in response to Arthur saying it.

“I love you too. Always.” 

Merlin smiles and then yawns widely.

“Time for bed,” Arthur says, and lifts Merlin up to carry him to the bedroom. 

“Hey, listen. Is there anything else you wanna tell me?” Arthur says as they reach the door.

Edwin’s face flashes briefly in Merlin’s mind.

“No,” he says.

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

When he wakes up the next day, he feels like shit. Arthur knows and now things are going to change, he can just feel it.

But they don’t. Other than the fact that Arthur never raises his voice again, even when they’re in the middle of a blazing row, it’s like it never happened. Arthur doesn’t try and wrap him in cotton wool or mince his words around him. 

He’s pathetically grateful. And relieved too, but there’s still this vague nagging feeling that he’s at a disadvantage somehow. Like he’s given Arthur something private and now he can’t get it back. 

Merlin can’t quite rid himself of the feeling. But he tries to put it aside, until something happens that throws it into sharp relief.

It’s seems like a perfectly normal day in a perfectly normal week. Merlin’s just collected the post from downstairs. He flips curiously through the stack and notices there’s about eight or nine cards in bright coloured envelopes, in amongst the bills and flyers. 

“Arthur?” Merlin says. “Is it your birthday?”

Arthur literally freezes. From the look on his face, it’s like Merlin asked if he wants to take a bath in sulphuric acid.

“Tomorrow,” he says, his shoulders very stiff.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Merlin asks, in mock-exasperation, dropping the post down on the table. “You haven’t left me much time to get you a present.”

“I don’t want a present,” Arthur says, and he sounds pained.

“Eh? Why not? Best thing about birthdays if you ask me,” Merlin says.

“I just don’t, okay?” Arthur says sharply.

“Okay, okay,” Merlin says, slightly nonplussed. “Well, what do you wanna do to celebrate then?”

“Nothing,” Arthur says, and he rips open one of the bills, leaving the cards untouched.

“Nothing as in just a quiet meal?” Merlin asks.

“No. Nothing as in nothing. As in, I would like tomorrow to be a just another day.”

Arthur is gripping onto the bill in his hand so tightly, Merlin’s amazed he doesn’t tear it in two.

“You don’t even want to-”

“No, Merlin, are you listening to me? I don’t want to do anything.”

Arthur’s not raising his voice but Merlin can see he’s on the edge so he nods acquiescently. 

There’s clearly something he’s missing here.

Does Arthur just flat out hate birthdays? But that can’t be true, he hired out that whole club for Morgana’s last birthday, organised the whole thing. And on Merlin’s recent birthday, he took him away to Edinburgh for the weekend and bought him a beautiful leather strapped watch. (Merlin had tried to protest at the expense but Arthur wouldn’t hear a word about it, claiming birthdays were the one day a year where you had to accept being spoiled, no questions asked. Unspoken between them was the fact that Merlin hadn’t had very many good birthdays up until now, and Arthur was clearly determined to turn that around.)

So Arthur has no problem with birthdays in general. What’s going on?

Merlin decides to sit on it for now, but that night in bed, after Arthur’s all content and pliant following a lazy blowjob, Merlin brings it up. 

“Don’t get mad or anything, but I was just thinking about our conversation earlier.”

He feels Arthur tense slightly. 

“You don’t have to tell me, obviously, but I just wanted to know what the problem with your birthday is.”

Arthur is silent for a long time, long enough that Merlin concludes no answer will be forthcoming. He doesn’t want to push it so he’s preparing to snuggle up to Arthur and just say ‘forget it’ when his boyfriend speaks:

“My mum died on my birthday.”

Merlin feels like such an idiot. How could he have not put that together?

“So,” Arthur continues with some difficulty, “it was never much of a celebration when I was growing up. My dad always…”

He trails off and takes a deep juddery breath.

“Anyway, yeah, I guess I never really got into the habit of celebrating it.”

Merlin leans into Arthur’s side, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I should have known. I feel bad.”

Arthur pulls him closer.

“Don’t. I deliberately… I didn’t want to tell you.”

Merlin moves back a little.

“Why not?”

Arthur looks awkward.

“Because… I… you never caught a break when you were growing up and by comparison my childhood was… I didn’t wanna sound like I was complaining.”

“You’re kidding me,” Merlin says, raising his head to look down at Arthur. “Do you really think you can never talk about stuff like that to me? That I’m gonna be all ‘Shut up Arthur, your problems are invalid compared to mine’?”

“No, but…”

“It’s not a competition. You’re allowed to tell me about the parts of your life that were crappy without me judging you for it.”

“You think I’m a rich kid…”

Merlin smiles.

“You are a rich kid. Doesn’t mean bad things can’t happen to you.”

Mordred skitters briefly into Merlin’s head but he shoves him away.

“Come on, talk to me.”

Arthur’s biting his lip miserably.

“It wasn’t that bad-”

“Ah ah ah, none of that.”

Merlin lies back down, resting his head on Arthur’s chest.

“Tell me about it.”

“I…” Arthur breathes in and out slowly. “It felt like my dad never got out of the mourning period. He was just… sad all the time and he kind of threw himself into work and was never at home or anything. And when it was my birthday…”

Arthur’s voice trembles slightly.

“He tried, I think. He’d get me presents and stuff, but he couldn’t… smile or anything. And in the evening, he’d always make some excuse and go lock himself in his study.”

Arthur closes his eyes, briefly.

“He didn’t want to grieve with me. He just wanted to be on his own… And then Morgana came to live with us, and she really tried to make it fun on my birthdays, but it was spoiled by then so I just used to say I didn’t want to celebrate.”

“That sounds horrible,” Merlin says honestly. He strokes Arthur’s arm. “I’m sorry your dad couldn’t be there for you.”

“Why should he be?” Arthur says suddenly. “It was my fault.”

Merlin feels like someone’s thrown cold water over him.

“Don’t say that-”

“But it’s true,” Arthur says insistently. “Obviously I didn’t do it on purpose, but she wouldn’t have died if it wasn’t for me. That’s just the facts.”

“Arthur, it’s-”

“And he wanted her more than me, I know he did. If he could have chosen, he’d have kept her alive.”

Arthur’s voice is rising in pitch, he’s talking very fast. With his ear pressed against Arthur’s chest, Merlin can feel his heartbeat quicken. He sits up, and Arthur sits up with him.

“You don’t know that,” he says.

“But I do, I can tell,” Arthur gabbles. “He never wanted me around because it just reminded him of what he lost. That’s why he was always working.”

“Arthur, please, listen to me,” Merlin says, a little desperately. “Your mum didn’t die because of you. And your dad doesn’t blame you.”

“How would you know-”

“Morgana told me that your mum got very ill when she was pregnant. That the doctors told her she should terminate the pregnancy for her own safety. She said no. And your dad agreed with her. They both made the choice to have you, even knowing what might happen.”

Arthur is white faced, his hands twisted in the sheets.

“But you know all this, don’t you?” Merlin says gently. “You just don’t want to believe it.”

“I killed her,” Arthur says and he starts to shake. “It was my fault. I killed her.”

Merlin’s heart breaks.

“Oh Arthur,” he says, and he wraps his arms around his boyfriend just as he begins to sob.

Merlin’s never seen Arthur cry before. He’s always been glad because he hates people crying around him, it makes him feel awkward and impotent. Even with people he cares about. When Will’s granddad died, he ended up phoning Will’s mum to come round because he couldn’t deal with the sight of his usually stoic friend weeping on the sofa.

He expects all of these feelings to come washing over him again as Arthur sobs into his shoulder, but they don’t. Instead he feels a curious intimacy with Arthur. Arthur’s letting himself be totally vulnerable in front of Merlin; it’s basically like he’s holding his heart out and asking for Merlin to trample on it. But Merlin won’t. All he wants to do in this moment is protect Arthur and makes sure he knows that he’s loved, and he’s safe.

Arthur cries for a long while, in a way that makes Merlin suspect this breakdown has been a long time coming. When his tears finally subside, and his sobs turn to hiccups, Merlin wipes his face with a tissue and gives him a tender kiss.

“I’m so sorry,” Arthur says, and Merlin sees the beginnings of shame in his eyes. “I don’t know why I-”

“Don’t be sorry. I think it might have been a good thing,” Merlin says softly. “Do you feel better?”

Arthur half-frowns.

“Maybe?” he says uncertainly. “I don’t know. I feel… tired.”

“Lay down,” Merlin says, and he pulls the duvet up over them.

They lie in silence for a while and then Arthur speaks.

“What you said… I… you were right. I do _know_ it’s not my fault, I just can’t always remember that.”

“I know,” Merlin says, because he does.

He turns over so they’re facing each other, and strokes a finger along Arthur’s cheek.

“It’s ten past midnight,” Arthur says suddenly. “I guess that’s another red letter start to my birthday.”

“Doesn’t have to be the same as the rest,” Merlin says. “Twenty five’s a big one. Not a bad time to make a fresh start.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Time to try something different.”

Arthur’s eyes look sad but he smiles.

“What do you suggest?”

“Well, you go to work as usual because I’m aware wild horses couldn’t drag you away. I’ll knock off early at the garage so I can come home and cook, and then we’ll have a little dinner party. Nothing big; just Morgana, Lance, Gwaine, and Percy. Have some nice drinks, some nice chat, and then we send them home and have sex on the kitchen table."

Arthur laughs.

“Beautifully constructed plan. Stellar ending.”

“I thank you.”

Merlin seeks his boyfriend’s eyes.

“What do you think?”

“I think… okay, yeah. Let’s do it.”

“Great!”

“Not sure about you cooking though. Unless you want this birthday to be my last ever.”

“Oi!” Merlin pinches Arthur’s arm. Then he leans forward and kisses him.

“Happy birthday Arthur,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Arthur’s smile is genuine.

“So you know how I said earlier the best thing about birthdays was presents? Wanna know the second best thing?”

“What?”

“Birthday sex,” Merlin says. Then he takes his clothes off.

 

Morgana is audibly shocked when Merlin rings her the next day to ask her round.

“Are you not free?” Merlin says worriedly.

“No, I am, it’s just, did you say Arthur knows about this? It’s not a surprise party?”

“He knows,” Merlin confirms.

“Wow. Er, okay. Great.”

Merlin’s never heard Morgana even close to flustered before, but he can’t really enjoy it because he knows why she’s so bemused. It has him praying that tonight is a success; there seems to be a lot riding on it.

Lance is obviously a little surprised too but he recovers quickly, and volunteers to call Percy and Gwaine to let them know. He had plans already for the evening but he promises to cancel them straight away. Merlin’s touched by Lance’s natural kindness. He’s glad Arthur has a friend like that.

Lance also promises he and the others will take care of the booze, so that just leaves Merlin to nip out and buy the ingredients on his lunch break. He’s quietly confident about the cooking aspect of the evening. He may not bother to cook often but he knows a few tricks. In summer holidays at Sycamore he often used to hang around the kitchen in boredom, and Tristan taught him the basics. He has a fairly fool proof pasta dish recipe; and he grabs some crisps and dips and garlic bread as well. He managed to wrangle Morgana into bringing a cake (“Nothing OTT,” he warned and could almost hear her rolling her eyes down the phone) so he’s pretty much done. There’s just the small matter of Arthur’s present.

Arthur only gets home twenty minutes before everyone’s due to arrive and Merlin scolds him as he bundles him towards the shower.

“Working late on your birthday, what are you like?”

“Come shower with me,” Arthur says, trying to drag him into the bathroom but Merlin wriggles free.

“I have a kitchen to run,” he announces grandly and Arthur sticks his tongue out at him. But he obediently re-emerges fifteen minutes later wearing a clean shirt and jeans.

“I don’t have to dress up, do I?” he says. “You told them it was casual?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m guessing Morgana will show up in a mink and pearls anyway, but that’s kind of her thing.”

Arthur laughs but Merlin can tell he’s nervous. He makes him sit down and pours him a drink.

“It’s going to be a lovely evening,” he says reassuringly.

And it is. The food is good, the atmosphere is convivial, and Merlin can see Arthur relax more and more as the evening wears on. He even consents to open a few presents; and the look on Morgana’s face when Arthur unwraps Gwaine’s gift to find a string of anal beads is one Merlin will cherish for a long time.

It’s when the cake finally comes out that Merlin remembers the one thing he failed to get.

“Candles,” he wails, even as Arthur laughs.

“I really don’t need candles,” he says.

“But it’s tradition!”

“I’ve got matches,” Percy offers. “We could sort of light one and stick it in the top?”

“Good idea, big man,” Gwaine says. “Should add a touch of class to proceedings.”

“He doesn’t get a wish without a candle,” Merlin pouts.

“Yes he does,” Lance says diplomatically. “You get one when you cut the cake. Go on, Arthur.”

Arthur shakes his head at all the ceremony but he picks up the knife anyway and slices down with his eyes shut. Everyone cheers.

“Sorry about the match idea, Perce,” Gwaine says. “Martha Stewart would have been proud of that one.”

Percy shoves Gwaine in the shoulder and he promptly falls off his chair.

“Hey look at that, I got my wish,” Arthur remarks.

 

Morgana's been throwing little looks at Merlin all night, and eventually she corners him when he’s washing up plates in the kitchen.

“How did you do this?” she asks, without preamble.

“Do what?” Merlin says, and Morgana gives him her patented ‘don’t play dumb with me’ look.

“How did you get Arthur to agree to all this? He hates his birthday.”

“I know,” Merlin says cautiously. “But we talked about it and we both thought it was time to try something new.”

“Just like that?”

Merlin hesitates, not wanting to betray Arthur’s confidence. 

“Maybe not just like that. But we got there in the end.”

Morgana regards him for a long moment.

“He’s different with you,” she says at last. “He’s better.”

Of all the things Merlin expected to hear from a relative of Arthur’s, that was the least likely. He’d always assumed the prevailing attitude would be that Merlin was lucky to have Arthur, not the other way around. That Arthur was improving Merlin by being with him, gradually bringing him up to Arthur’s level. 

The vote of confidence is appreciated. 

He smiles tentatively, and Morgana returns it.

“You’re either a genius or a magician,” she says. “Either way you’ve managed to open up a door some of us have been knocking on for a very long time.”

Then she glides out of the kitchen.

 

That night Merlin and Arthur make sweet lazy love, and then Merlin gives Arthur his present.

“An old petrol receipt. You shouldn’t have,” Arthur deadpans.

“Read the back!” Merlin says excitedly. “It’s an IOU for driving lessons. I’m gonna teach you how to drive!”

“What?”

“I talked to Will today and he says we can borrow his car on Sundays, so I’m gonna take you out to the countryside and teach you the basics. Enough so you can take the test if you want.”

“You’d do that for me? Bearing in mind I’m going to be absolutely terrible?”

Merlin grins at him.

“There’s something in it for me too. We’re gonna take that road trip across America one day, and I’m not getting stuck with all the driving.”

Arthur looks at Merlin, and there’s so much naked love in his eyes that Merlin has to look away.

“Wanna know what I wished for when I cut the cake?” Arthur says.

“No,” Merlin whispers, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden. “Because then it won’t come true.”

“I think it already has,” Arthur says, and he leans in to kiss Merlin. 

And Merlin is scared, just like that, because he feels too much. He doesn’t want to lose this, and he can’t stand the fact that that’s not in his control.

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

After Arthur’s birthday, Merlin feels different. It’s like they’ve reached a new level in their relationship and he loves it but he’s also terrified. The higher they get, the further he has to fall. 

In one sense, there’s a kind of equilibrium between them. He told Arthur about Cenred, and Arthur told him about his mother. It’s even. (Merlin’s aware that the point of relationships is not to keep score but he just can’t help himself; he’s so scared of falling behind)

Merlin decides that as long as that equilibrium remains in balance, everything will be fine.

Then one day the doorbell rings.

It’s after dinner and they weren’t expecting guests. Arthur shrugs at Merlin as he gets up to answer the door. They’re both nonplussed when they see an unfamiliar woman standing there; smartly dressed in a trouser suit with a leather briefcase in her hand.

“Is this the residence of Merlin Emrys?”

“That’s me,” Merlin says cautiously.

She holds out her hand.

“Grace Matthews, I’m a solicitor from Stockham and Smith. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time?”

Merlin shakes the hand briefly, panic flooding through him. What could a lawyer want with him? Is one of the men he robbed pressing charges? But that was years ago. What else has he done?

He lets her walk past him into the living room, where Arthur gestures towards the armchair. She sits down, propping her briefcase beside her.

“I apologise for the late hour of the call, I’m afraid I was caught up at the office.”

“It’s fine. Why are you-”

He trails off. If Grace notices his unease, she doesn’t comment, but she does look over at Arthur.

“You might prefer to have this conversation in private Mr Emrys,” she says, her voice dropping slightly.

“Anything you can say to him, you can say to me,” Arthur says and his voice sounds convincingly authoritarian, but Merlin can hear the tremor of worry behind it.

He doesn’t care if Arthur stays. Whatever shit he’s gotten himself into this time, Arthur’ll find about it eventually.

“It’s fine,” he says and Grace nods briskly.

“Very well. I’m contacting you today on behalf of my client Mordred Muirden.”

The room goes dark for a second. Merlin actually feels his knees give way slightly and he sits down quickly.

In his worst imaginings, he never saw this coming.

Grace seems to be waiting for some verbal confirmation to continue. From the way she’s looking at him, professional yet sympathetic, he knows she knows everything.

“Right,” he rasps out eventually. 

“Mr Muirden has decided to bring a criminal case against his father Edwin Muirden. A senior lawyer at my firm has taken him on as a client and I’m currently assisting in building the case. Mr Muirden requested we contact you to ask if you’d be willing to testify against his father when the case comes to court.”

Merlin’s vision darkens again for a moment. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. It feels like a full minute passes before Grace speaks again, and her voice is gentle.

“We still have the record of your previous statement against Edwin Muirden, from when you-”

“Arthur, get out,” Merlin says, not caring how harsh he sounds. He needs Arthur to leave the room, right now, before he hears any more of this.

“But-”

“Please, just do it!” Merlin says, horrified to hear his voice crack.

He’s deliberately not meeting Arthur’s eyes, but he can see him hover for a few seconds, before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Are you alright, Mr Emrys?” Grace says. “Would you like a glass of water?”

It’s a nightmare. It’s just a nightmare and he’s going to wake up any second, because all this shit cannot be coming back to haunt him right now.

“No,” he croaks. “And no. I’m not testifying. Sorry.”

“Mr Emrys, we contacted you because-”

“I don’t care! I’m not… I did this already, remember? And it went nowhere. And “Mr Muirden” didn’t seem so keen to back me up then.”

He’s gripping his hands together tightly, trying to stop himself from panicking. He can’t deal with this, it’s all too much, he needs her to leave…

“I know what happened last time, and I’m truly sorry. But I can assure you that our firm has no intention of dropping the charges. It will go to court, and I can’t promise success, but you’ll at least get a fair shout.”

A fair shout? Is this some kind of legalese bullshit? There’s no such thing for people like Merlin.

“No, I can’t. Sorry.”

Grace doesn’t say anything for a moment, then she suddenly sits down in the chair opposite him.

“I’ll be honest with you Mr Emrys. This case is far from open and shut. There’s no statute of limitations on rape and sexual abuse, but it’s been several years now, and it ultimately boils down to Mordred’s word against his father’s. Getting a prosecution will be very difficult indeed.

But if you testified, there would be one more voice in support of Mordred. You’re the only other eye witness. I make no promises, but it could go a long way to helping with the outcome of the case.”

Merlin swallows down the bile in his throat.

“No,” he says. “I just… can’t.”

There’s a silence. Then Grace nods.

“Very well. It’s your decision.”

She stands, and reaches into her briefcase.

“We’ll be assembling the case for the next couple of months. If you change your mind in that time, please contact me.”

She puts a business card down on the coffee table, and then she’s gone.

Merlin sits very still for a long moment. His hands are shaking but he squeezes them together until they stop. He takes a long series of deep breaths until the nausea has receded from his stomach and then he walks to the drinks cabinet in the corner and pours himself a whiskey. He drinks it down in one gulp, then pours another.

He hears the creak of the door and then Arthur’s behind him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Merlin replies instantly, making sure his voice is flat and bland.

“What was all that?” Arthur says tremulously and Merlin doesn’t turn around yet, not until he knows his face is blank. He pedals back over what Arthur heard before he left the room, as quickly as he can.

“Misunderstanding. Some kid I used to share a room with in Sycamore wanted me to testify that his father came into our room one night and tried to kill him, but he’s making it all up. I never even saw his father once.”

He turns to face Arthur, perfectly composed. 

“I told her the truth and she left.”

He meets Arthur’s gaze, and realises to his horror that Arthur looks distraught. Which means…

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Something iron closes around Merlin’s heart.

“You were listening at the door.”

It’s not a question.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispers. “You seemed so panicked when she started speaking, and I was scared, and…”

Merlin wants to scream and shout but at the same time he feels very cold, like ice water’s running through his veins.

Instead, he smiles. A big, wide grin that splits his face. Arthur starts slightly.

“Yeah, I guess I overreacted, sending you out. It’s really not a big deal,” he says nonchalantly. “Some leftover bullshit from a foster family I lived with when I was fifteen.”

“I didn’t know you were fostered after Cenred,” Arthur says carefully.

“Yeah, just once. They suckered me in with this massive mansion they lived in. I mean, Jesus Arthur, even Uther might have been jealous. It was a bloody palace!”

Merlin laughs, deliberately loud. 

“Merlin,” Arthur says, and his voice is excessively gentle. “Do you… can you talk about what happened?”

Merlin’s hit with a sudden memory, of the time he’d accused Arthur of having a hero complex when they were arguing that morning in the kitchen. He’d said it in anger then, lashing out. But now he looks at Arthur and thinks he was right all along. He’s seen this type before.

You met them all the time at Sycamore. They were the ones who cooed over the children on open days, big soft eyes filling with tears when they heard all the tragic life stories. They were the ones who’d hug a child close to their chest, promising that they were going to take them away for good, that they were going to have a family now; voice heaving with emotion.

They were also the ones who returned the children only months later, stuttering apologies, even as accusation slipped into their tone. “I didn’t know it would be like that. No one told me it would be like that.”

Arthur has no idea. He thinks he does, thinks if they have some big emotional confrontation that ends in Merlin breaking down and crying and Arthur telling him he’s not to blame, that everything will be fixed. 

Merlin blames movies for this; movies and television. The truth just has to come out, so everyone can hug and cry and learn a valuable lesson. Redemption before the credits roll. 

He’s not interested in the Hollywood way. As far as he’s concerned, shitty things happen and you try and forget about them as best you can. He’s not looking for anyone’s sympathy – least of all Arthur’s – and raking everything up just seems like a big waste of time. And he refuses to play tragic victim to Arthur’s superhero.

Which is why he says what he says next.

“I guess Edwin had been fucking his son,” he says casually, deliberately choosing the words that will repel Arthur the most. “And I just got caught in the middle of it.”

Arthur blanches.

“How did you get in the middle of it?” he asks shakily.

Merlin shrugs.

“He jerked me off a few times. Then he wanted to get his kicks watching the son blow me. I got the hell out of there after that, they were too much of a freak show for me.”

Merlin’s light tone appals Arthur, he can tell. The way he’s talking about the Muirdens like they were some sort of quirky reprobate family who were just a little too wacky for Merlin’s taste; as opposed to Edwin being the ‘perpetrator of a horrendous crime’, as Gwen had once said.

Arthur’s obvious sense of moral outrage is way misplaced as far as Merlin’s concerned. He won’t argue that Mordred really was the victim of a horrendous crime, but he got off pretty lightly in comparison. What’s a couple of hand jobs to him? No big deal. He’s been with guys older than Edwin since then.

Arthur’s eyes have filled with tears and it makes Merlin feel a bit sick. He opens his mouth and Merlin just knows he’s going to get a whole waterfall of apologies, a crashing fountain of reassurances that it wasn’t Merlin’s fault. 

He gets in first.

“I wouldn’t have minded but Edwin had this big scar on the side of his face. If he’d been fitter, I probably would have let him fuck me.”

There’s a shocked pause.

“I don’t think you mean that,” Arthur says softly and Merlin sees red for a second before he calms himself down. If he flies off the handle, Arthur will only have proof that he’s trying to conceal some deep inner turmoil.

Instead, he arranges his features to look puzzled.

“Why not? He knew what he was doing. Obviously all that shit with his son was a bit creepy, but if that hadn’t happened, I probably would have stuck around.”

Arthur looks sickened. He’ll probably never want to touch Merlin again. Which is fine because Merlin’s not sure he wants to be touched by Arthur again. Not the way Arthur will do it now; all feather light touches and ‘are you okay?’ and ‘do you need to stop?’ Gone are the days of being fucked into the mattress until he bites the pillow in ecstasy; now all Arthur’s going to see when he looks at him is something broken. Something fragile and damaged, to be handled with kid gloves lest he falls apart.

It’s all ruined now.

Arthur is staring right at him and he keeps his face blank.

“You must have known it was wrong,” Arthur says falteringly. “Or you wouldn’t have reported it.”

“Gwen made me report it,” Merlin says flatly. “And then they dropped all the charges, so I guess they could tell I didn’t really believe what I was saying.”

“But didn’t you feel-”

“Arthur, I was a horny fifteen year old who’d just realised I was queer as a bloody rainbow. Another man’s hand on my cock was a relief, not a tragedy!”

Arthur’s shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. This particular conversation probably doesn’t feature in the handbook on ‘How to Talk to Your Abuse Victim Boyfriend’, Merlin thinks with grim satisfaction.

“I know what you’re doing,” Arthur says. “I know you think if you pretend it’s not a big deal that it’ll hurt less. I know you’re only talking this way because you don’t want to have this conversation, and you’re trying to shock me into dropping it.”

“But it’s not a big deal Arthur,” Merlin says intently. “You’re just trying to make it one.” 

“Merlin, please! We have to talk about this,” Arthur pleads.

There it is again. Arthur always wanted to talk. About Edwin, about Cenred, about every bruised knee and hurt feeling Merlin had ever had in his life, as though talking made anything better. He’s so sick of reliving the past every goddamn day; of interrogating every part of his life that’s ever gone wrong. And why? Because relationships are built on trust? Because trust is formed by talking? Who gives a fuck?

He was better off before. Better when he was drinking and screwing around and just getting on with things; not being made to re-experience every shitty thing that ever happened to him just so Arthur could feel like they were making progress.

It’s enough now. It’s just… enough.

He turns to Arthur, slowly.

“I know what we can talk about. We can talk about the fact that I asked you to leave the room and you took that as an invitation to listen at the door,” Merlin says, his voice very calm.

Arthur looks guilty.

“I get that you’re mad about that, and-”

“I’m not mad,” Merlin says evenly. “I’m done.”

“What?”

“I think we should call it a day,” Merlin states.

Arthur freezes in place.

“You want to break up?” he says, and he looks absolutely horrified.

“This just isn’t working for me anymore.” Merlin shrugs. “Sorry.”

“No, wait… you-you can’t just dump me because I say something you don’t like.”

“I think I can do what I want, actually,” Merlin says carelessly.

“But… Merlin, this is nuts, come on. Can we have a conversation about this?”

“I’ve said all I need to say,” Merlin says, and he gets to his feet. “I’ll move out, don’t worry. I’ll crash on Will’s sofa till I find somewhere new.”

“Just-just stop, stop talking like that. Come and sit down.”

“I’ll come and collect my stuff while you’re at work.”

“Stop it! You’re not going anywhere, we just need to work this out, maybe take some time to cool off and-”

“See you, Arthur.”

Merlin heads towards the door and almost immediately there’s a hand on his arm, pulling him back.

“No, wait, look, I’m sorry okay? I’m so sorry I ever brought it up. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Arthur looks frantic and it makes Merlin’s stomach turn over unpleasantly.

“Let go.”

“No! I said I was sorry! I will never, ever bring it up again. I won’t… we don’t ever have to talk about anything you don’t want, I swear. I-I handled this all wrong, I fucked it all up. Just let me make it up to you, please.”

Merlin detaches Arthur’s hand from his arm.

“I’m going now,” he says and his voice is very distant in the close air of the flat.

“Please! Do you want me to beg? I will beg, I will get down on my fucking hands and knees, look-” 

Arthur drops to his knees, holding his hands up. There’s tears starting at the corners of his eyes and it’s beyond too much for Merlin, he can’t bear it.

He heads to the door again and Arthur doesn’t move to stop him, but he hears a howl of anguish behind him.

“Merlin, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me because I made this one stupid mistake.”

Arthur has never sounded more desperate. He knows without even turning around how Arthur’s face will look. 

Oh Arthur. He’s looked at that face for so long, traced every last inch with his fingers, has every feature memorised. He feels like he knows that face better than his own.

But it has to end now so he makes himself say it.

“I’m not. I’m leaving because I don’t love you anymore.”

And then there’s only silence and he clicks the flat door shut behind him.

 

___________________________________________________________________________

 

He stays with Will and Beatrice for two weeks before he finds a room in a converted boarding house. The landlady is very old and very nice, and though the room is small and poky, the rent is cheap.

He works and he goes out drinking and he doesn’t think about Arthur. He can’t deny it feels odd to be back on the pull after two years in a relationship, but he quickly falls back into the old routine. But he always uses condoms now, and never tries to rob them anymore, and Will sighs and says it’s progress, of a sort.

He sees Gwaine out one night when he’s very drunk indeed, and his feet carry him over to lean against the bar next to him.

“Hey handsome,” he says. “Looking for company?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Gwaine says, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re not honestly hitting on me, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugs.

“I’m single, you’re single…”

“Have you seen Arthur recently? He’s a fucking mess.”

Merlin’s vision sharpens.

“It’s not my fault,” he snaps.

“No, so he says,” Gwaine replies slowly. “That’s Arthur for you though; he thinks everything’s his fault. I thought he’d gotten past that, but there you go.”

Then he walks away, leaving Merlin to push down the guilt rising through him.

It really isn’t his fault, though. And he doesn’t blame Arthur either. Some people just aren’t cut out for relationships and he’s one of them. He gave it his best shot, and it didn’t work. He’s better off alone.

Arthur will find someone new. He’s too good not to. And then everything will be the way it should be. 

Merlin downs a quick shot and then heads back out on the dance floor.

 

He drifts along, aware he’s going through the motions but not sure how to change it. Or if he really wants to. He doesn’t get challenged anymore, living on his own, and that’s a relief. Or at least, he thinks it is, but sometimes he misses having someone to call him out when he’s wrong, or make him try things out of his comfort zone. His world feels a bit smaller than before.

He finds it hard to sleep at night and he eats less, because making meals for one isn’t so fun. He still goes out at the weekends, but on weeknights he comes home from work and just climbs into bed. He can spend a long time staring at the ceiling, he finds.

Will only talks to him about the break up once. It’s the day before he moves into his new room, and he’s just been round to Arthur’s flat to get the rest of his belongings.

“All ready then?” Will says, walking in and throwing himself down on the couch. He’s a good mate, but Merlin knows he and Bea will be relieved to get their living room back.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Arthur at the flat?”

“No, at work. I checked he was gonna be there before I went.”

He hadn’t actually contacted Arthur to check that, just his office. He’d felt a sudden pang when he posted his key through the letterbox, to think of Arthur coming home and just finding all of his stuff gone, with no explanation. But he shoves it away.

“That’s that then,” Will says, and Merlin nods.

“Shame.”

Merlin quirks an eyebrow at Will.

“Didn’t think you liked him much.”

“As a person, I didn’t. In relation to you… he wasn’t so bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kind of seemed like he was good for you.”

Merlin’s a bit taken aback because Will sounds vaguely serious and that doesn’t happen very often.

“Not in the end,” he says briefly.

“Why? Because he made you talk about things you didn’t wanna talk about?”

Merlin frowns. He only told Will the basics of their break up, and it seemed like he wasn’t really listening at the time, so he has no idea where all these opinions are suddenly coming from.

“It wasn’t-”

“You don’t think that could have been a good thing?”

Merlin turns to glare at Will.

“I don’t get what you’re saying.”

“Look, I’ve known you for six years, right? And in that time we’ve never really talked about any of your life before I met you.” 

Will lets out a sigh. 

“But… I’m not an idiot. I know you had a bad time, maybe a really bad time. And I never said anything. I wanted to give you space, and not bring it up if you didn’t first.”

“Yeah, and I appreciate that. Arthur couldn’t-”

“Wait.”

Will holds up a finger.

“I wasn’t necessarily right. I… Merlin, you don’t have to talk about any of this shit with me. But I think you should be talking to someone.”

“I-” Merlin tries to interrupt but Will ploughs on.

“And I may not be clever like Arthur but I can see the same way as he can that you can’t just push all this stuff down inside yourself. It… it’ll fucking eat you.”

Merlin purses his lips, angry and confused all at the same time.

“Anyway, I’ve said my piece,” Will says, standing up and stretching. “I’m gonna go get us some beers and curry for tonight, okay?”

Then he goes.

Merlin stares after him a long time. He feels odd, like someone’s stuck their hands in his insides and rearranged them. But he forces himself to snap out of it, and return to his packing. It’s just Will going on as usual. It doesn’t mean anything.

________________________________________________________________________________

 

It’s two months to the day that he walked out on Arthur when there’s a knock on his door. It must be Will; no-one else knows he lives here. He gets up from the bed with a smile already on his face but it freezes in place when he opens the door and Mordred’s standing there.

He looks… older. Taller and less sickly than he used to, though the milky white skin and dark tunnel eyes are still the same.

“How did you find me?” Merlin says straight away, blocking the doorway with his body.

“With great difficulty,” Mordred says quietly. “May I please come in?”

Merlin’s immediate reaction is to say no, to shut the door in his face, but if Mordred worked this hard to track him down, he probably won’t be put off that way. Better to get it over with.

Wordlessly he stands aside, and Mordred steps into his room. Merlin half-gestures at the only chair he has, a rickety wooden affair, and Mordred sits down neatly. Merlin stays standing. There’s a pause.

“I’m not testifying,” he says, when the silence becomes too much to bear.

“So I heard,” Mordred says. “May I ask why?”

Merlin’s mouth works for a few seconds.

“No,” he says eventually.

“Is it because you think we won’t win? Or is it because you’re angry I didn’t back you up last time?”

Merlin doesn’t answer.

“Or is it because…” Mordred falters and his composure seems to crack slightly. “Because of what I did to you?” 

“No,” Merlin says quickly, because he can at least answer that. “It wasn’t… you didn’t have a choice.”

Mordred nods, his hands twisted together in his lap.

“Can I ask... why are you doing this now? After all this time?”

“My mother died,” Mordred says. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it while she was alive.”

Merlin thinks of Catrina for a second. 

“She didn’t know?”

“She did,” Mordred says, then sees Merlin’s look. “No, she didn’t know all along. Just after you brought the charges. And she never knew for sure, because I never told her. But she must have suspected because the minute it was all over, she sold the house and took me to live with her sister in Wales. And she wouldn’t let him see me.”

Merlin had always wondered what happened after the charges were dropped. He feels a small sense of relief that Mordred hadn’t had to stay with Edwin any longer.

“And now…”

“She left me a lot of money. Enough to hire Rowena Annis, probably the best working lawyer in the country.”

Mordred pierces Merlin with a look.

“I’ve only got one shot at this. And I… I need your testimony.”

“You had my testimony once before Mordred,” Merlin spits out. “Didn’t seem to mean much to you then.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Mordred says in his soft voice. “But when they asked me if it was true, I couldn’t…”

He shifts in his seat, hands still gripped together. 

“He’d been doing it since I was eleven. I-I didn’t know anything else than that. I thought it was normal. And then you came to live with us and I started to think maybe it wasn’t right… But. He’d told me it was a secret for so long and I didn’t know how to talk about it. I was scared…”

Suddenly, Merlin sees the fifteen year old Mordred sitting on the chair in front of him. The same sad eyes, like nothing could ever bring light back into them. 

Since he was eleven… 

Jesus. 

“I do understand,” Merlin says. “I was never mad at you.”

“Then help me now,” Mordred says. “Please.”

Merlin raises one shaking hand to massage his temples.

“I can’t. I’m sorry Mordred, genuinely sorry, but I just can’t.”

“We might not win without you.”

“You might not win with me,” Merlin says, without malice. “Mordred, what if you go through all this and he gets off? Don’t you think it’s gonna be ten times worse?”

“At least I’ll have tried,” Mordred says softly.

“Okay, well, I can’t try with you.”

Mordred gets to his feet and for a moment Merlin thinks he’s going to leave. But he crosses the room to stand near Merlin. The proximity panics Merlin slightly and he flinches back.

Mordred notices and the most pained smile Merlin’s ever seen crosses his lips.

“I can’t move on,” he states, matter of fact. “I can’t do anything. I can’t have any kind of life unless I do this.”

Merlin believes it. God, he believes it. It’s more than a shadow over Mordred’s life, it’s a fucking ten tonne weight attached to his ankle. 

It takes a lot of energy to pretend that what Edwin did to him didn’t affect him in any way. Merlin’s suddenly tired. Tired enough to admit to himself that he’s still feeling the aftershocks from those few months eight years later. That he’s still fucked up about it, no matter how much he wants that not to be true.

It was a few months for him. It was four years for Mordred. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

 

There’s not much time before the trial begins so Grace calls him straight into her office downtown and starts talking him through the process. They discuss what he’s going to say, the kind of questions he’ll have to answer.

Grace is patient and kind. When he meets Rowena Annis, she’s much less eager to sugar-coat it. 

“Are you prepared for what the defence will throw at you?” she asks sceptically. 

Merlin nods.

“Really? So you’re prepared for them to say that you’re a disturbed young man with a history of abuse clouding his judgement?”

“Excuse me?”

“The other charges you were involved in. Cenred Essetir. I found it, so they’ll find it. What are you going to say when they suggest to the jury that your mind was so warped by your previous abuse that you started concocting fantasies to get attention?”

“I’m not… I haven’t…”

“I have it on good authority that Edwin’s defence lawyer plans to allege that you and Mordred were in a relationship, and that you’ve cooked up this little story between you.”

“We were never-”

“They’ll know you’re gay, Merlin. What if they ask you if you were a virgin when the alleged events took place? What if they ask about your sexual habits now? How many men have you slept with? Would you say you’re promiscuous?”

“They can’t say that!”

“They shouldn’t say that. But even after I’ve objected and it’s been stricken from the record, the jury’s still heard it. I can’t take that back.”

Merlin feels sick to his stomach. This is his worst nightmare, exactly why he didn’t want to do this.

Grace clearly notices his distress because she puts a reassuring hand on his arm.

“This is just worst case scenario stuff,” she whispers. “Rowena wants you to be prepared, but I promise you it won’t come to this in the courtroom.”

 

In the end Grace is right, although not in the way she intended. Edwin Muirden hangs himself the day before the trial starts.

 

He goes for a coffee with Mordred some time later, even though it feels totally incongruous. But nothing about their interaction has been normal so far, so maybe it’s oddly fitting.

“I’m sorry you never got to face him in court,” he says. He’s guilty because he’s overwhelmingly glad he never had to face Edwin again, never had to tell his story out loud or be cross examined. 

Mordred shrugs.

“It’s over now. Not in the way I wanted, but it is over.”

He doesn’t seem to be taking it as badly as Merlin thought he would. Maybe he just wanted closure in any form. Death certainly is closure. And the way Edwin did it… there’s guilt suggested there, Merlin thinks. And shame, too. Maybe all that Mordred wanted was his father to acknowledge his wrongs, in some way or other.

They sit for a while and Merlin tries to make small talk.

“So… back to… what is it you do?”

“I write software,” Mordred says. “Freelance. What about you?”

“I work in a garage,” Merlin says, and then starts to say he has a boyfriend but stops short, because of course he doesn’t anymore, and it’s weird that he momentarily forgot that.

“Are you seeing anyone?” he asks quickly, to cover his mistake.

Mordred’s face curls in visible distaste.

“No,” he says. “I have no interest in that.” 

By that, Merlin wonders if he means sex, and the implications are too upsetting to consider so he asks another question.

“Will you go back to Wales?”

Mordred shakes his head.

“I bought a little cottage in the Scottish highlands. Very secluded area. I’m going to live there for a while.”

He doesn’t add: ‘to get away from people’ but Merlin hears it anyway. 

It’s awkward when they part, because both are aware that they’ll probably never see each other again.

“Good luck with the cottage,” Merlin says. “Hope it works out.”

“Yes,” Mordred says. “Good luck to you too, Merlin.”

Then he turns and weaves his way through the rush hour crowds, until Merlin can’t see him anymore.

 

He doesn’t want to go home straight away so he walks into a park and sits down on a bench. There are two children playing on the swings in front of him, their parents indulgently watching on from the side. It makes him think of Leon and Mithian suddenly, and he wonders where they are now, with their twins. Whether they ever think about him. How life would have been if they’d taken him home with them.

He bets they made good parents. Some people are just cut out for it.

Arthur would make a good dad.

Arthur.

He hasn’t seen Arthur for six months now, and he misses him so badly. He misses him every time he wakes up in his poky room, and the rest of the bed is cold and empty beside him. He misses him when he hears something funny at work and pulls out his phone to text Arthur about it, then realises he can’t. He misses him when he gets home at night and there’s no-one to ask how his day went or what he wants for dinner.

He misses him all the time, in everything, and lying to himself about it doesn’t make it any easier.

Merlin thinks of Mordred, vowing off people forever, going to live in his far away cottage where no-one can hurt him. Merlin could be like that, if he carries on pretending. Telling himself he doesn’t need anyone or anything; that relationships are too much hassle and he’s better on his own. Never admitting that he needs help sometimes, that he can’t always handle everything by himself.

He doesn’t want that. He wants to be around people, even if he has to open himself up to the fear that they might let him down one day. That they might leave him. He wants it anyway.

He wants Arthur. 

He gets to his feet and starts walking, increasing the pace until he’s almost running. Now that he knows where he’s going, he can’t get there fast enough. When he reaches Arthur’s street he really does break into a run, pounding down the pavement until he reaches the front door of Arthur’s building. Then he’s skidding up the stairs, coming to a halt in front of Arthur’s flat, banging on the door…

There’s no-one home. Merlin wants to laugh and he wants to cry, but he does neither. He sits down next to the door, his back against the wall, and he closes his eyes; letting sleep take him.

When he opens them again, Arthur is there.

Arthur looks down at him and he looks back up. There’s a long silence.

“You weren’t sick in the hedge again, were you?” Arthur says at last.

“I’m not drunk this time,” Merlin says and he pushes himself to his feet.

There’s another pause.

“You best come in, then.”

Arthur unlocks the door and Merlin follows him into the living room. He looks around uncertainly at him.

“Do you want-”

“A big glass of water? No, come and sit down.”

Arthur gives him a wary look, but obeys, sitting down on the couch. 

“Am I really that predictable?”

Merlin smiles, sitting down on the armchair opposite him.

“No, but we’ve been here before, haven’t we? Half of our relationship was me falling apart and you trying to put me back together.”

Arthur tenses visibly.

“If you’ve just come here to rehash all the things you hated about our relationship-”

“No,” Merlin interrupts. “No, listen. I’ve come to apologise. And to say I love you and I was wrong.”

Arthur blinks rapidly.

“You… I… sorry, there’s a lot to process in that sentence.”

“Well I’ll start with the apology. I’m sorry for the fact that I never trusted you. Even after everything we went through, I didn’t want to show you certain parts of me because I didn’t think you’d stick around if I did.

And I was wrong to leave like that. When things get difficult, I always just want to cut and run. I’d rather be the one who leaves first than stay and be honest, and risk getting rejected.

And finally, I love you. I never stopped. And I still want to be with you. If you’ll have me.”

The room’s so quiet Merlin can hear his heart pounding in his ears. He’s laid himself completely bare and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Arthur says no to him. 

“I want that too,” Arthur says quietly.

Merlin can’t look up, because he’s scared he’s misheard, and if he meets Arthur’s eyes, it’ll all be over…

“Merlin,” Arthur says simply, and for the first time in years, Merlin starts to cry.

He sticks the back of his hand in his mouth, desperate to stop himself, but the tears keep coming. Then he feels warm hands tugging him up and Arthur leads him over to the sofa, pulling him into an embrace. He buries his face in Arthur’s shoulder and sobs; for everything that’s gone wrong up until now, and for the idea that it can all come right again.

Arthur’s arms are gentle around him. He’s muttering soothing words, dropping little kisses into Merlin’s hair. The smell of him makes Merlin cry harder, Imperial Leather soap and cinnamon; warm like Arthur.

He cries himself out and Arthur holds him through it. When he’s steadier, Arthur makes them both tea and they sit and talk it all out.

“I want you back. But not the way it was before,” Arthur says. “You were right about the pattern we got into.”

Merlin nods.

“I won’t hide things from you anymore, I promise. Or lie. If I really can’t talk about something, I’ll just tell you straight.”

“And I’ll respect that. And not push you.”

“And we should both be less hard on ourselves. Not everything is your fault, Arthur.”

“And you are not a fuck up, Merlin.”

“Okay. So we’ll be open. And non-judgmental. And kind to each other.”

Arthur grins.

“Jesus, we’re going to be sickening.”

“Morgana will be appalled,” Merlin agrees.

They smile at each other; cosy, conspiratorial. On the same team.

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

Life’s not easy after that but it’s easier. Merlin moves back in, much to the chagrin of his landlady. He also starts taking business classes at the local night school. Will’s planning to buy a garage of his own in a year or two, and he promises Merlin a job there; something managerial. 

Arthur still hasn’t quite figured out his passion so he stays on at the consultancy firm, but he and Lance start talking about raising some capital for a specialist publishing house. Merlin doesn’t know if it will come to fruition, but Arthur seems happy to be at least making plans for an alternative career.

They have Morgana over a lot, and Gwaine, Percy and Lance too. Will even attempts to bury the hatchet with Arthur and bring Bea over for dinner sometimes – although Merlin suspects Will and Arthur will never quite get over that vague alpha male pissing contest thing they have going on. Uther even comes round on one memorably awkward occasion, and although Merlin spends the whole evening wound as tight as a spring, he seems to get the seal of approval. Uther only really respects hard work, Arthur tells him later, so all that stuff about night classes clinched it for him. 

He’s sad that he can’t bring his mum or Gaius round to meet Arthur. He knows they would have liked him.

They still fight, sometimes. Merlin still occasionally storms out to a bar and gets blind drunk, but he never picks anyone up, and he always makes his way home in the end. Arthur still sometimes refuses to let things go, to the point where Merlin won’t speak to him for hours on end. They get it wrong a lot, but they get it right more often, and so it works.

 

Merlin runs into his old roommate Gilli by chance one day. They go for a pint and catch up. Gilli’s working in construction now and he seems happy enough; he likes his job and he likes living in the city. He fills Merlin in on a few other Sycamore lags. Nimueh is working in a tattoo parlour in Camden, and she has piercings all over her face. Sophia got married and moved to France with her new husband; Gilli says he’s friends with her on Facebook and she constantly posts pictures of herself pouting into the camera. Alice has a son now, and she teaches at a school for the deaf.

Those are the success stories. Merlin winces when Gilli tells him that Val’s in prison for GBH, and that Alvarr overdosed on heroin two years ago. But it’s nothing compared to how he feels when he hears that Freya committed suicide six months back.

He tells Arthur about it in bed that night, and Arthur wraps his arms around him. 

“She was so gentle and she had such a shitty life,” he says angrily. “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Arthur agrees, stroking his hair.

“Val and Alvarr too,” Merlin says. “They never really had a chance.”

Merlin spends a while hating himself for not looking Freya up when he had the opportunity. He decides not to make the same mistake again.

“I want to find Daniel,” he says to Arthur over breakfast one day. 

Arthur nods.

“Okay. How do we do that?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin says, frustrated. “I lost the last address I had for him, and he’s not on Facebook, and when I rang the last care home he lived in, they had no idea.”

Arthur looks thoughtful.

“Would Evan know where he was?”

“Maybe, but I lost track of him too.”

“Well, is he on Facebook?”

Merlin never checked. He grabs Arthur’s laptop and does a quick search. 

“Yeah, that’s him!”

“So message him,” Arthur says.

 

Merlin’s not sure what to expect when he sets out to meet Evan in a local pub. Of all the people he knew growing up, he put Evan in the same category as Val and Alvarr in terms of life expectancy. Evan was just so angry, and bitter, and Merlin almost dreads to find that life’s done him over the same way it did the other two.

But when he walks in the pub, he’s nearly knocked off his feet by the strength of the hug he’s enfolded in.

“Merlin fuckin’ Emrys! Jesus Christ, look at you.”

Evan’s grinning ear to ear.

“All grown up. I barely even recognised your profile pic when you messaged me; I thought it must be of someone else.”

“I haven’t changed that much,” Merlin protests.

“Sure you have. You were a skinny little shrimp when I knew you, and now you’re a… well, you’re a skinny tall shrimp I guess.”

Merlin punches him in the arm, then takes a good look at him. Evan’s the same as he was physically, pretty much, but he looks so much lighter. Happier.

“It’s love,” Evan explains to him later, when they’re sat down with the drinks. “I met a girl and she changed my life, just like in the movies.”

He waggles his finger at Merlin.

“I’m fucking engaged, can you believe it? Me!”

Merlin laughs. Evan’s enthusiasm is infectious.

“Yeah, I was such an angry little bastard when I knew you. And I carried on that way for ages, then one day I meet Emma and it was like ‘get your shit together’! You only get one chance with a girl like this!”

They talk for a long time and Merlin can’t help but feel good about how sorted Evan seems. It makes him think there must be hope for everyone.

They’re leaving the pub when Merlin suddenly remembers why he contacted Evan in the first place. 

“Evan, did you ever see Daniel again? Or know where I could find him?”

Evan’s face splits in another grin.

“Did I ever see him again? Only like three times a week.”

“What? Where?”

“He works in that café Tidbits on Vaughn Street. I stop in and get my coffee there on my way to work most days.”

“I know it!” Merlin says excitedly. “How is he? Is he alright?”

“He’s great. You gotta go see him, he’d love it.”

“I will,” Merlin vows.

“Hey, and come out for dinner with me and Emma sometime, yeah? Bring your girlfriend along.”

“Boyfriend,” Merlin corrects and Evan’s face contorts in glee.

“No way! You’re gay now? Fucking A, man, I love it!”

Merlin can’t help but laugh.

 

He drags Arthur across town to Vaughn Street the very next morning. When they walk in the café he scans all the servers, suddenly tense that he won’t recognise him. But then he sees a young guy with tousled blonde hair in the corner, refilling the sugar bowls.

“Daniel!” Merlin says, bounding right over. “It’s me, Merlin. Do you remember?”

For one heart stopping moment Daniel looks confused, and Merlin realises he has no back-up plan if Daniel flat out just doesn’t recognise him. But then Daniel smiles. 

“Merlin!” he says, and throws his arms open for a hug like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Merlin feels inexplicably choked up as he embraces Daniel, and Arthur must notice because he steps forward.

“Hi Daniel, I’m Merlin’s friend Arthur. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’ve heard nothing about you,” Daniel says seriously, and Merlin laughs.

“I’ll tell you all about him then. When’s your next break?”

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

Merlin never thought he’d like a routine, but he’s slowly coming round to the idea. On Mondays he has his night class, and Arthur keeps dinner warm for when he gets home. Tuesdays he cooks, and they tend to watch a film together. On Wednesday or Thursday, either Morgana or Will are usually round; Morgana with some drama or other, and Will ranting on about whatever’s annoyed him that week. Merlin privately thinks sometimes Morgana and Will might have made quite a good couple, given their mutual flair for the dramatic. On Fridays they go out with the guys; Gwaine dragging them to some new club he wants to try out, and inevitably ending the night complaining that he doesn’t know why he bothers inviting Merlin and Arthur out when all they do is suck face the whole time. Saturday mornings Merlin sees a counsellor. It's something Arthur suggested, and he doesn't know what he thinks about it yet, but he's sticking it out. Saturday night is date night, if they can be bothered, and they go out for dinner or to the cinema. Sunday mornings they have breakfast at Tidbits and Daniel fills them in on his week. Then in the afternoon they pore over maps, idly planning the road trip across America they’re taking next year.

Merlin is surprised by how much he loves it. And then again he’s not, because he’s just come to accept now that everything is better with Arthur around. Even the bad stuff. It’s just better. 

He still has bad patches; little things still remind him of Cenred or Edwin, and some days he feels stifled, longs to be living on his own again.

But they never last. And when the going gets tough, Arthur is always beside him, holding his hand.

He's found his home at last.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting :)


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